My Dearest Sherlock
by Splendidly Sarah
Summary: SherlockxMolly- Set after the Fall, Sherlock is living with Molly, and they must learn to adapt to one another: Sherlock to domestic living and Molly to the nearly constant danger. JohnxMary, and the return of Moriarty!
1. A Little Rough Around The Edges

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I had had many fantasies about Sherlock Holmes living with me in my flat since I'd met him, but none of them had prepared me for the mental anguished I had suffered over the past three months. I didn't regret helping him; I just wished I knew what I was getting myself into before I so willingly participated. But I look back on it now with fondness—he'd told me I counted to him, and that he needed me. Hearing that from him was conformation enough that something was indeed wrong. I couldn't deduct like him, and maybe I wasn't as intelligent as him, but I knew that I was going to play a large role in his future even without such grandiose knowledge.

And here I was, the result of jumping all in, few questions asked—cleaning out dried blood and leftover body parts out of my fridge during my time away from work. This was mild considering what I'd had to put up with in the past few months. I finished scrubbing the kitchen with bleach, and went to the living room to see if he'd shot any more holes into the walls of my flat out of 'boredom'.

'Sherlock,' I called, quite curious about the knives sticking out of random wood fixtures throughout the living area. 'Why are all of my kitchen knives about the flat?'

'Bored!' he yelled back, his deep baritone sounding oddly childish. There was more than a hint of disdain behind his words, and I couldn't blame him. It's not like he could go anywhere…it was too soon, and people would still recognize him, the 'fake detective'.

'I don't think that should give you incentive to destroy your home away from home.' Home away from home—I'd made the mistake of calling this his home, and he'd made one of his rare appearances outside of his room while I was at the flat. _Don't think that just because I am stuck in this miserable place for the time-being that it makes it my home._ I winced at the memory. The first month had been rough—he'd said some of his classic rude monologue, but it was on a higher level. It had all been directed at me and no one and nothing else. Then suddenly, voila, he became nicer and started showing his face a little more. That's around the time I began noticing the dead body parts in my ice box.

'Molly Hooper do you not realize that the contents of your flat can only keep an intelligent mind entertained for a few very brief, very sad, seconds?' He emerged wearing a pair of slim black trousers and an un-tucked grey button up. 'My mind palace is bigger than this apartment and a great deal more entertaining, so you must excuse me for indulging myself in a few experiments for the duration of my stay in your…charming flat.' He looked at me with a sarcastic smile.

'To each their own.' I said, getting used to his snide remarks about my apartment.

'You say that quite often.'

'A deduction? Well, deduct this—I state that every time you insult me or my flat.'

He was silent for a moment and then retreated back into his room. I still fancied him, that was no doubt; and the time spent together made me fancy him even more. But, there were times when he was beyond infuriating. Now, would be an example.

I walked into my room, dragging my feet after my long day at work—four bodies, all of them were very obvious, so I had spent her day in the lab, looking at blood samples under microscopes. At nine I finally got to leave, only to come home to this.

I stripped down, goose bumps forming from the cold I hadn't noticed before then. I started the shower and hopped in, the steam relaxing away the tension I had coiled beneath my skin. I methodically massaged at my neck, my arms, my lower back. I washed my body three times—Sherlock often complained of the smell of formaldehyde. I washed my hair in the same pattern, and then let the water run over me until suddenly the pressure went out. I shut it off and threw on my dressing gown, my stomach finally responding to the hours of fasting it'd endured.

'Bacon, bacon…I know I had some bacon in here…' I searched the clean fridge for my bacon and it was nowhere to be found. 'I could kill him. Literally, kill him.' My blood felt hot, and I could feel myself getting warm in my gown. 'I said _Sherlock, please don't eat the bacon—that's my dinner. _Does he listen? No.' I deepened my voice, mocking him.

'I'll have you know that I didn't eat your bacon.' He stepped out of his room in a white tee and flannel pajama bottoms, his dark curls drenched and smelling like men's body soap. 'It's in a bowl, top shelf to the left. I had an experiment earlier and it evolved me cooking bacon, so don't think anything of it.'

With that he stalked out of the room, without telling me which strips of bacon could have possibly been poisoned…so I settled on a bowl of cereal, hoping not everything in my flat was tainted with the experiments of Sherlock.

It was a quarter after one until my head finally hit the pillow. I was exhausted, sore, and tired enough to fall asleep without putting pajama's on- in my dressing gown.

_What do you need Sherlock?_

_You._

_What can I do? _

_Help me._

_With what? You're being so vague. _

_I'm going to die, Molly, and I need you to help me live. _

_What do you mean you're going to die? You're fine!_

_Trust me. I trust you. _

_I trust you. I do. I believe in you, Sherlock. _

_Do you remember Irene Adler?_

_Yes, she died a while ago…why?_

_She didn't die. She faked her death and then hid. I need to do the same._

_How could I help you with that? I'm just Molly!_

_Well, first, declare me dead. And then allow me to stay in your flat._

_How long?_

_Until people forget._

_Okay._

_Thank you, Molly Hooper. _

I awoke at seven with the meowing of my cat that was trapped inside my room. He was a free spirit, and his name had originally been Sherlock, but since my new flat mate had taken over, I had to change it…he now went by Tom. So ordinary for such an extraordinary cat…I digress…

I unleashed him from the room and he ran right out immediately. Apparently, this was much to the dismay of my houseguest, who then let out an exasperated sigh.

I closed the door and slipped on a pair of loose khaki's and a jumper. I brushed my hair and considered myself as ready for work as I could be. I was in a fog still, not having had my morning coffee.

_Is that violin music? It sounds so sad…_

The beautifully depressing melody emanated from Sherlock's room. Before I knew it, I was knocking on his door, not in control of my own body. I wanted to run away, but couldn't command my feet to move.

The music stopped and his door swung open. 'Yes, can I help you Molly?' He asked, and then gave me a once over. 'Are you ill?' he reached out his hand and grabbed my wrist, placing to fingers over the blue vein there. My pulse, which was already dangerously high, began to beat even more furious than before.

'Wh-what would make you ask if I was ill?' I said, shaky, glad that's what his deductions had left him to.

'You're pale, whiter than normal. You are shaking. You eyebrows are furrowed and appear to be in a great amount of stress. You are breaking out into a cold sweat yet are blushing. Your pulse is extremely high and your pupils are dilated…'

'I actually…I just wanted to say that your music was pretty. I've never really been one for classical music bu—'

'Molly, I have asked you many times not to try and engage in conversation…it's a weakness of yours.' He looked at me as if I was disgusting. 'And stop being sentimental…it's repulsing.'

'O-okay.' I awkwardly and ashamedly backed away from the door as he closed it once more. Yet despite all this, I still had feelings for the man.

**So there it was! Chapter One! I'm counting on your reviews to keep this story alive, so remember to review! **

**I love you all so much! XOXO -TDM**


	2. I'm So Very Sorry

I won't lie, when Sherlock had first asked me if he could move in, I thought that he would almost be like a boyfriend to me. But, as the months have gone on I have come to the startling realization that Sherlock Holmes, possibly the most attractive and smartest man she knew, was asexual. The thought had made her feel odd, as if he needed to be loved, but he rejected everyone…maybe he seriously just wasn't interested.

'Molly, could you put on a pot of tea?' this would make for the fifth time he'd asked. Apparently he couldn't put tea on while he was thinking. I sighed and gave in, wondering why I didn't get paid as his housekeeper. On my walk from the couch to the kitchen, I spotted a few of his possessions along the floor…a wallet with bloody fingerprints, a shoe, and a tube of bright red lipstick.

'Sherlock…' I started. A pit formed in my stomach as I stared at the lipstick, wondering if maybe he wasn't asexual, I was just a Sherlock repellant.

'Please stop speaking. You're ruining my mood.' I watched him, his eyes looking not at the wall, but in a distant place she didn't know.

'I, uh, sorry.' I walked by without saying another word, just watching him deduce his life away on my couch. Suddenly, he looked up, eyes fixed on mine.

'You're disappointed in…something.' Great, it's like he lived for nothing but to solve out my every emotion. He jumped off of the couch and walked into the kitchen. 'You have the day off of work, so that cannot be the problem, and your cat is now responding to its new name, so that also can't be a concern of yours.'

'Have you ever had a girlfriend, Sherlock?' I asked, apologizing as soon as it came out of my mouth.

'Molly,' He said, a cocky smile on his face, almost beckoning me to try for him, 'I am quite married to my work.'

'You're not working.' I could have made a shield from the tangible awkwardness that had crept into the air from my personality. I wanted to. I wanted his eyes to stop looking at me as if I wasn't enough for him.

'Molly…caring…is not an advantage.' I felt as if he were choosing his words, actually considering my feelings…

'How so?'

'An example?' The corner of his mouth went up for the slightest second, and the back down. 'Your cat…it will die someday. The fact that you had emotions for the cat makes you…vulnerable.'

'Why would you say such an awful thing!' I could feel pure anger in my chest and hurt. I tried to walk away, as did he, but he stopped in my track.

'Molly.' His eyes darted around the room, looking for some distraction. 'I-I'm sorry. I apologize for speaking about the emanate demise of your cat.' He glanced down at me for a brief second, and then began walking towards his room. This was the first time he had made an effort to apologize since Christmas.

'It's alright, Sherlock.' He looked back in my direction, just shy of his door. 'I understand that it's just how you think.' I gave a weak smile. 'You just took me off guard.' He nodded and entered his room before I could say anything else.

It was late afternoon on a Sunday. I was at Tesco, buying the supplies both I and Sherlock needed.

Razors…both men and women's—Check.

Shampoo—Check.

Freezer bag…heavy duty for body parts—Check.

More bacon.—Check.

'Molly, is that you?' I heard a sweet, familiar voice call from a few feet ahead of me.

'John!' I was shocked to see him, though I shouldn't have been since we both lived close to this supermarket. 'How are you?' I gave him a smile.

'I've…I've been better. Even after six months I can still feel his presence.' John sighed. 'I wish he was still here. I need my best friend…but I won't bore you with that. Oh! Are you living with someone?' He glanced down at my basket, obviously seeing all of the male products I had bought.

'Uh…yes!' I was a dreadful liar, but honestly, I wasn't lying…I just wasn't telling him wh-

'Who?' He smiled. 'Do I know him?' Now I regret this.

'His name is…Boyd…I doubt you know him, he's sort of shy.' I smiled the best I could but I felt as if John saw right through me.

'Too bad! Molly, you must have a thing for guys that use that soap because Sherlock used the exact same kind…it smells so bad.' At the same time, a phone went off. John went white, and I'm sure I looked something like a lobster on meth. I pulled of my pocket the phone that Sherlock had let me borrow for my trip here in case he needed to contact me. 'Molly…' he looked ill. 'Is that Sher-Sherlock's ph-phone? I mean, I'm all for memorabilia but you took his phone?'

It was still playing as I hit the talk button. 'Molly. Please make sure to buy aluminum foil and bleach while you are out.'

'O-Okay.' I stuttered, and clicked the end button as soon as I could.

John's face was a mixture of shock, hurt, and disbelief.

And then he fainted.

I rode in the ambulance to the hospital with him. He was mumbling and crying, but the paramedic's said it was because he'd hit his head. On arrival, he was asleep and wheeled into an X-ray room for further damage.

I sat in the waiting room, watching an old program about antique dolls. The phone rang once more, again with my house number on the ID. 'Yes?' I answered.

'Where are you?' He asked in an almost worried voice.

'The hospital.'

'Are you alright?' He exhaled into the speaker of the phone.

'Yes, I'm fine…I'm not in here for me. I'll be home later on…I'll let you know then.' With that I heard a click from his end and ended my side of the call as well.

'Miss Hooper?' A nurse came out and asked.

'Yes?'

'Mr. Watson is asking for you.' I swallowed my fear and stood up, anticipating fainting and wishing for a lightning bolt from heaven to come and kill me before I had to face him. My shaky legs eventually made it to his room and next to his bedside. The nurses left us alone.

'Are you okay?' I started, hoping to avoid the inevitable.

'What the hell was that?' His face betrayed the calmness in his voice, its façade breaking around the edges. 'And don't you dare lie to me.'

'I have his phone.'

'Who was speaking to you?' Of course, my luck. He heard.

'A friend.'

'What. Is. Their. Name?' He looked straight at me, and every fiber in my being wanted to turn and run away.

'John…'

'Because if I heard who I think I heard, I may commit myself, Molly!'

'I'm so sorry,' Was all I could say. 'I am so very sorry.' I turned away and left, tears gathering in my eyes and feeling of guilt making a home in my chest.

**What are your thoughts so far? I love seeing all of your reviews! They're wonderful!**

**I can't wait until I can post the next chapter, but until then, goodbye!**

**-TDM**


	3. Clockwork

_12 missed calls. _

_It needed to stop. _

John called me every day, at the exact moment I had to pass Baker Street (as quickly as I could, mind you) to get to my flat. Every day. Like clockwork.

He always left a message, too. _Molly, this is Sherlock's phone. And his ringtone. I was alright with that, I knew you cared for him…but why did I hear him? I'm a doctor, Molly; I know I'm not losing my mind. Please, please call me back. Please. Please. _And: _Molly, I have it figured out! Does your boyfriend sound like him? Is that it? Please tell me that's it. It's not it, is it? Call me back. Please. _

I thought about calling him back, I really did, but I'm a dreadful liar, and John couldn't handle the truth yet…_yet._ It had been a week since the incident, and John's calls never wavered. He knew she'd have to give in eventually…like a child…_like Sherlock, _I thought.

I stood outside my flat and deleted every call and message, as was routine, before giving Sherlock his phone back. I needed to get one, but I would hardly use it…plus Sherlock insisted on my taking his phone for some odd reason. I walked in to find a very relaxed Sherlock hanging upside down by his feet from my ceiling fan.

'A-are you alright?' I asked, hoping not to interrupt an important experiment. He said nothing but held out his hand. I placed the phone in it, and he looked at me, and the phone. Back to me, then down at the phone.

'You understand that there is no point in trying to conceal something from me on my own phone, right?

'Y-yes. Yes, I know.' I busied myself with putting dishes into the sink, but that only kept me occupied for a few seconds. 'Sherlock, where's my cat?' A pang of fear ran through me…_Oh my god. He killed my cat._

'He's slightly preoccupied at the moment.' The corner of his mouth twitched upwards for the briefest of seconds and then added 'He's in a meeting, I wouldn't disturb him.' Disturb him? The only thing disturbing to me at this moment was how oddly kind he was being…

'Where, Sherlock?'

'I believe he's in my bedroom. He was insistent upon going in there…'

I interrupted. 'So you locked him in there?' As I got closer to his door I could hear the pitiful meows of my CID-cat in distress. I opened the door and for the first time saw his room. It was meticulous, much different than she'd expected it to be. His bed was made and looked as if it'd never been used. 'Are you comfortable here?'

'As comfortable as I should be. Why do you ask?'

'Your bed looks like you never used it.' He sighed and I looked at him, upside down and hands running through his hair.

'Sleeping is for the dead. I, contrary to popular belief, am _not_ dead.' All of the sudden he began wiggling around and got a frustrated look on his face.

'Stuck?' I asked, giggling. I was about to go and cut him down when I heard a knock.

'I am not stuck.' He said defiantly, though he was clearly deciphering how to think his was out of his foot noose. I looked through the peep hole on the door and saw a blonde head, short, and wearing a sweater.

'Sherlock!' I half screeched, half whispered.

'Stop talking.'

'But-'

'Whatever you could say right now is not of importance to me.'

'Okay! Well, just know that John Watson is outside of my door right now!' I almost began crying. I was taught never to lie and here I was, possibly in the biggest lie ever. 'Hold on a minute, I'm…uh…naked! Yes, I'm naked!' I yelled at the door.

'Okay, I'll just be out here.' It took me a moment to realize that Sherlock had been uncharacteristically quiet. I looked over and he had turned into an upside down statue, frozen in place.

'Let me get down.' He said, in a voice so quiet that he'd probably not been heard if not for it being so quiet. I walked over to the kitchen, grabbed a knife and began sawing at a rope that was a foot over my head. Eventually, I cut, and all six feet of Sherlock gracefully landed into the floor. He stood up slower than usual, collected his things and retired to his room.

I walked to the door and let John in.

'Why have you been ignoring my calls?'

'You called?' I decided to once again play dumb.

'Where's the phone? I'll prove that I called.'

'Sh-Boyd, Boyd has it right now.' I kicked myself mentally for the almost slip up.

'I know what…who I heard.'

'He's dead. He's dead and he lied to you. I'm sorry, but it's true.'

'He lied to you too, Molly! Because let me tell you one thing…Sherlock Holmes isn't…can't be…dead. He's out the somewhere, and he's alive, and I swear when I see him I'll murder him.' He almost sobbed.

'Sherlock has never lied to me.' I said defiantly, though I knew he had I didn't want to believe it.

'What makes you think that you're more important…that you count?' I smiled.

'I just know.'

'Just know? You think you're in love with him…Sherlock! Don't you get it? He can't be in love with you…he never was, either. I think the closest he's ever been to love is Jim Moriarty.' I mentally looked back upon his face…I was crazy for him too…

'So, I care for Sherlock, bu-'

'More than that…you, how, I'm not sure, but you love him…you've deluded yourself into loving him…even when he's not around…or is he?' John ran to my fridge, and I knew that everything was going to come undone…and then…a text message? John looked at his phone and threw it across the flat.

'John! Are you alright?' I ran to his side.

'Where are you? He called over my shoulder. He then stalked past me and went right through his bedroom door…'You…you…Sherlock…you…bastard!' He walked away from his friend and sat on the couch like a father would do to scold you when you messed up. 'Give me one reason why I shouldn't just kill you.'

'I missed you, too.' Sherlock responded in a sarcastic tone.

'I'm just going to…go to bed.' I stayed up all night listening to them speak. John left at five that morning and that's when I finally emerged.

'Molly? Why are you still awake?'

'Are you leaving?' I asked, praying to God the answer was no.

He looked taken back by my question. 'Why would I leave?'

'Well, now John knows, so…' He walked over to me and awkwardly grabbed my hand.

'I'm not leaving…not for a while. And…thank you…' He bent down and kissed me, not on my cheek, but on my lips, an actual kiss. Before my fantasy was completed, he pulled away and walked to his room. 'Goodnight, Molly.'

'Goodnight.' I said with my head in a cloud of pure bliss.

'And, Molly?' he added. 'John was wrong. I can…do…care about…people.' With that he closed his door and I was suddenly thankful it was Saturday as a wave of drowsiness crashed over me.

**Boy, oh boy, oh boy! I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it! Tell me what you think! Please review, I love hearing from you!**

**Chapter four will blow your mind, so be ready!**


	4. Unfamiliar Territory

_He grabbed me and pulled me into a hug, securing me flat against his towering frame. _

_I care about you, Molly. _

That's usually the place I woke up, and when I did I felt an odd pang in my chest unlike one I'd felt before. It hurt, and raised a lot of questions for me, but I usually tried to ignore it and continue on with my day.

It's was the seven month anniversary for Sherlock's stay at my flat. Now, it seemed like, it was Sherlock and John both staying here. Double the food, double the mess, double the…everything. But, I didn't mind. I enjoyed seeing Sherlock so happy…genuinely happy. He was all smiles and laughs around John, and his demeanor towards me changed drastically.

John made him better. He made me better. I made…I made dinner.

But, there was still one aspect of John that Sherlock _didn't _like too well, and her name was Lydia. Lydia King, John's fiancé, was a sore spot for Sherlock…mainly since he'd never met her, so he couldn't deduce her and find flaws in her, I'm guessing.

'Hey, guys…I will be going out for the evening, so please try not to damage anything too severely. I'm just going to leave straight from work, so you'll have to either eat leftovers or order something. I have money in my nightstand drawer if you need anything.' I grabbed my clothing bag and was about to leave when I heard muffled laughter coming from behind me. I turned around to see Sherlock lying on the couch, John in the chair, both of them giggling like mad men. 'What's so funny?' My saying this apparently added fuel to the fire, because at this they laughed louder and louder. 'What?'

'You…you…' was all that John could get out, so at least I knew it was about me.

'I think what my friend here is trying to say is that something of yours may have fallen out of your bag.' He said while once again bursting into laughter. I looked down to see what had fallen, and saw nothing out of the ordinary. I looked back up and suddenly they were the picture of peace. Stoic, as if they hadn't been laughing at all. I walked towards the door again and the laughter once again erupted.

'Okay! What is it!'

'Your bag…' I looked and falling out of my bag was a pair of pink lace lingerie undergarments. I shoved them into my bag and heard…nothing. I was close to tears as I heard a deep voice quickly changing the subject from me to…was it a new murder? I glanced up and saw Sherlock looking at me momentarily before looking back to John. I then left without another word, glad the humiliation was over.

….

I was nervous…not my normal awkward nervous, but the sort of nervous you feel when you're high from compliments and dizzy from liquor and you've just invited your date back to your flat. I felt on top of the world (that being perhaps from one too many drinks), and I felt like I was finally going to be in a fun…if not good, relationship.

'Where is your flat?' Sebastian said, placing sweet kisses on my nose and cheeks.

'Just around the corner.' I smiled as we got out of the cab and made our way in.

'You have an amazing flat Mol!' Mol? He already had a nickname for me? How sweet! He smiled at me and closed the door of my flat behind me. He gave me a deep, passionate kiss that left me giddy and feeling like a teenager. That was before…

'Ahem.' I heard from the front of the room. About nine million thoughts raced through my head at the speed of light. _Oh, God. This can't turn out well…_'Oh, don't mind me; I was just a glass of water.' He casually walked over to the sink, filled a cup full of water, and then glanced over Sebastian, eyes hard and a smile playing upon his lips. 'I don't think it's quite appropriate for you to be swooning Molly whilst she's inebriated.' _Oh. My. God. Could I die of embarrassment? Is this even possible? Why is he still speaking? Oh, God!_

'Who are _you?_' Sebastian asked, and I about died then.

'It doesn't quite matter, all that you need to know is that I reside here, and I'm not allowing you to have sex with Molly while she is intoxicated, therefore unable to make a rational decision with the situation.' He sat the glass down and stood at full height, making himself easily four inches taller than Sebastian.

Sebastian looked at me and back at Sherlock. He now wore an almost proud grin on his face, clearly winning the battle.

'Molly?' Sebastian asked. 'Look me up whenever you get rid of your boyfriend here. You can do better. My last name is Moran if you need a good time away from this twat.'

'Twat?' Sherlock asked incredulously. 'You are middle aged, most likely 37. You have never worked with your hands although you're clearly well off because you are wearing designer clothing and a diamond necklace. You have a dog. No, four. Large dogs, too. You are a chain smoke of at least twenty years judging by your inability to breath even after very little walking. This begs the question how on earth you planned on surviving having se-…never mind. You've been married before, but have failed in maintaining relationships, which is why you find yourself trying to sleep with Molly after getting her drunk. You don't want Molly to contact you at all, you just want to make me angry because you have deluded yourself into thinking I am her significant other. So, she won't be "looking you up" because you are scum…and she deserves better.'

'I'm out of here.' He said, slamming the door on his way out. I was half in shock when I realized what had happened.

'Sherlock!' I yelled. 'How could you?' I walked over to him and grabbed the front of his shirt. He didn't move, but let me yell at him, and hit him (as weak as I may have been), and eventually cry on his chest. He never moved, never wavered. He never asked me to stop. When I put my forehead to his chest he awkwardly patted my shoulder. I could hardly imagine the look on his face, but I wish I would have seen it.

I sat in the kitchen floor as he walked away to his room. Soon, the sound of his sweet engulfed the room in its beauty. It went on this way for as long as I could remember, because I fell asleep in the kitchen that night to the violin playing, too emotional and drunk to make it to my room.

My first conscious thought when I woke up was that I was hung over. My second was that I was not nearly in as much pain as I should have been for sleeping in the kitchen floor. I finally opened my eyes, glad that they met the darkness, but mad because I couldn't see my surroundings. I felt the area around me and felt softness…

I was in a bed. Odd. I remember falling asleep on the floor.

I reached beside me to turn my lamp on and I found nothing. _Where is everything? Am I dreaming?_ I opened my eyes and tried to focus on something, anything. The first thing I noticed was the outfit lying at the end of the bed. After that, it's like I could finally analyze the room.

Blue wallpaper…

No lamp on the side table…

No alarm clock…

I rolled out of the bed to turn on the light when I felt a cool breeze nipping at my legs. I looked down and was wearing a man's tee shirt that barely covered my butt. I was getting worried now…

I ran my hand along the wall and found the light, which, once I got used to the brightness, answered all of my questions.

'Sherlock!' I yelled. 'Wait! Hold on!' I didn't want him seeing me in next to nothing…which I didn't see why not seeming as he was most likely the person who changed me into this shirt. I grabbed the dark blue dressing gown (which was much too large on me) and tied it tightly on my waist before exiting Sherlock's room…

'What?' He said curtly, currently absorbed in analyzing something under the microscope.

'Why was I in your room?'

He sighed and looked away from his slide. 'Because for some reason the door to your bedroom was locked from the inside—I found this out yesterday when I went to retrieve money for food and I couldn't enter. Next question.'

'Why am I wearing this shirt?'

'Well, last night as I tried to convince you to sleep with your clothes on you began throwing some of your already removed garments at me. I made a deal with you that I would leave you alone if you'd at least wear that to bed. Anymore questions?' He stared at me, and I could feel my face becoming red.

'Why did you tell him to leave?' I asked, wishing with all my might to take it back.

Sherlock looked back down to his slide, the conversation clearly over.

**Okay, so what do you think? Sorry if you think it's wrong Sherlock is not outright going for Molly...I personally see him as the type who care but would never admit it outright...**

**And also, MORAN! How could I _not _let Molly date him?**

**So, review! Let me know what you're thinking, dear!-TDM**


	5. Twenty Seven

**My evil mind has just devised a plan for the rest of this story...**

**Here is a part of this magnificent plan! **

**Enjoy and Review!**

'_Molly! Molly, wake up!' _

'_Is that you Sherlock? Your voice is so…'_

'_What? You _do say the oddest things while you're sleeping.' I opened my eyes and the first thing they came into contact with was a pair of bright blue ones staring right back. Oh God. I thought it was another dream! I wonder how many times this had happened…

'Wait…why are you in my bedroom!' I jumped up, my forehead making a harsh contact with the bridge of his nose. 'Oh my goodness, Sherlock! Are you alright!'

He has walking about the room, head in the air, hand on his nose. 'Oh, yes. I've never been better. In fact, this was the best start to my day ever!' He threw his hand in the air dramatically. I walked over to him and guided him to the edge of the bed where I instructed him to sit and let me have a look at his nose. 'I'm fine,' he said, much more calm now, 'It didn't hurt that bad…' a moment passed, I continued examining his now bruising nose. 'What about your forehead? It looks red.'

'I'm quite fine, Sherlock. I believe my hard head may have just broken your nose, though.' I could see where it was slightly crooked, and a trickle of blood had begun to run.

'Oh well. I was never quite cut for pageantry anyway.' I gave his a tissue to stop the bleeding and offered him pain medication, which he refused. 'What's your prognosis, Doctor Molly?' He smiled for the first time at something other than a murder. Whoa…this was…odd.

'I would say that you have about a day to live. I'm not too hopeful.'

'Oh, no. Whatever will I tell my parents?'

'Make up something crazy…like you jumped off the roof of a hospital or something.' He laughed, and stood up from my bed.

'I don't think they'd believe a word of it! What else could I tell them? That I've actually just faked my death and hid for eight months with my…' Sherlock clasped his hands, the way he does when he truly contemplates something. 'Are you hungry? I would very much like a biscuit.'

He walked out of the room, and as he did so my hopes fell and curiosity peaked. What was he going to say? What was I to him? Gosh, I knew what he was to me, but was I just Molly to him? I walked out of my room and saw my flat, completely cleaned, and breakfast on a tray in the living room. 'What's all of this?' I smiled, shocked that he (and most likely John) would do this for me.

'What the?' He looked away from Sherlock's face when he saw me walk out. 'Happy birthday!' John shouted, a gift in his right hand.

'Oh my goodness! Is this a party for me! But I'm in my nightie!' I looked at my attire and compared it to that of which my guest and my flat mate wore. John wore a brown sweater with jeans and Sherlock a light blue button down with grey pants. 'I'll be back in a tick!' I ran to my room and put on a presentable outfit. I brushed out my hair and even put on a splash of make-up (pink lipstick, to be exact). I grabbed my digital camera and ran back out and found Sherlock critiquing John on how the efficiency of the way he struck the match was lower statistically than if he were to strike it at another angle.

'Ah, Molly! The birthday girl!' John had a bagel on a saucer with the numbers 2 and 7 stuck into the center. Sherlock sat back and watched. I turned on my camera and took a picture. This would be the birthday to remember. 'Sherlock and I both got you gifts!' John said with a smile.

'This is all too sweet of you two!' I blew out the candles and wished for…well, if I told it wouldn't come true!

John and Sherlock conversed back and forth about the possible serial murders going on somewhere in Scotland. Sherlock had already formulated an idea, which John hastily agreed with and stated his amazement at Sherlock's talent (to which Sherlock rolled his eyes, but I could see how much he enjoyed the compliments…now that I thought of it, no one really ever compliments him…I'll try to do that more often…).

As I chewed my last bite of bagel, John placed the neatly wrapped gift in my lap. 'This one is from Lydia and I. She picked it out…I'm quite terrible at picking out gifts.' I thanked him and opened up a charm bracelet, silver, with five charms: a cat (which looked like Tom), a magnify glass, a soldier helmet, a diary, and a box. I heard Sherlock mumble about sentiment and how it was a weakness and how that bracelet signified weakness…but I interrupted him, not wanting him to disgrace my precious bracelet ever again.

'Actually, Sherlock, I love it. It's not a weakness; it's a reminder of what makes me strong.' He stared at me, and I could see him thinking of a million things to say, but saying nothing at all. 'John, please thank Lydia. I adore this. Thank you.'

Sherlock handed me his gift now. 'Here.'

I opened the small red box and found a phone with my something engraved on the back. Before I could read it, he was out of his seat and into his bedroom. John and I sat, stunned.

'Is he angry with me?'

'No. You have to understand…Sherlock believes that caring is a disadvantage and you're making him care. He's angry with himself for becoming something he loathes…sentimental.' John smiled at me. 'You're making a machine human, Molly. Just give him time. Well, I need to go. I have a date with my fiancé.' He smiled and left and I took my new belongings into my room.

_To_

_Molly_

_From_

_Sherlock_

I swallowed and fought back tears. It didn't work, because soon, I was blubbering like a baby. I turned the phone on, and it was a picture of a kitten playing with yarn. A text message popped up and the ID read _Sherlock Holmes_.

_I hope you enjoy your gift. Now I can just text you when you leave._

_-SH_

I laughed at his little message. Sentimental? Maybe. But, he was still Sherlock, which meant there was always going to be a part of him that didn't quite allow him to be normal…which I loved. I texted him back, liking the thought.

_I love it. Thank you! _

_-MH_

_Well, the only reason I had to buy you one was because you broke your last one. Don't be too thankful. _

_-SH_

_Well, I am. _

_-MH_

_Happy birthday._

_-SH_

_Thank you. Do you want me to reset your nose?_

_-MH_

_Yes, actually. I'll be there in a minute._

_-SH_

_I won't move._

_-MH_

I smiled. Yes, I could get very used to this.

**Someone asked if we get to meet Lydia...EVENTUALLY! She actually comes in as a major role, so be patient, loves! **

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**-TDM**


	6. Secrets

**We're about the get crazy, so hold on tight, love!**

**-TDM**

Was it weird that I counted the months Sherlock had been with me? Nine months yesterday…wow…

'Molly?' I heard from behind me. I stopped and looked behind me.

'Sebastian!' I smiled and greeted him. Wow! I go out for groceries and I meet a guy I liked…then I remembered the circumstances of his departure and felt awkward all of the sudden…

'Hey! I'm glad you remembered me!' He opened his arms, inviting a hug. I obliged, since I loved hugs and needed one a great deal.

That's when I heard his laughter.

That's when I felt the gun, cold, against my back.

'Molly, Molly, Molly.' He muttered into my ear. 'I know about Sherlock. And I know just how to make him pay.' I almost began crying. This couldn't really be happening, right? As these thoughts went through my head, a black car pulled up and he, with the gun still against my back, guided me into it. 'You are the perfect bait…and Jim was right, you _are_ desperate.' I froze. Yeah, don't mind me…Molly Hooper, beacon of light to all psychopaths. 'I'm just going to put this around your eyes so you can't see anything. Oh, and by the way…if you as much as flinch without my say, I'll more than gladly shoot you.' He smiled, as if he was telling a small child a story about rabbits and fairies. He placed the piece of cloth around my eyes, and another around my wrists.

'I-I-I do-don't u-understand.'

'Molly, Sherlock Holmes cares about very few people. Let's see…' I heard the ruffling of papers. 'Mrs. Hudson of Baker Street, John Watson of Baker Street, Molly Hooper of Rossmore Road, and himself, originally of Baker Street but has seemingly faked his own death after killing my boss…anyways, he seems to have a special fondness of _you_ for some reason…I guess he isn't into looks, huh?'

Silence engulfed the car…or at least I think it did…I was thinking of impossible ninja moves to get me out of here…

_Bddiinnngg!_ I heard my phone buzz, knowing Sherlock was probably curious as to where I was, praying to some higher power that he would notice quickly that something was off.

'Molly, that's very naughty of you, hiding your phone from me!' He reached over and hit me in the face, and then took my phone out of my front pocket. The pain and the action stunned me. Maybe my lack of sight made it worse, but it was the worst pain I'd ever felt. I groaned after a second, once the taste of blood hit my tongue.

We'd been driving for at least an hour when, finally, we stopped. I felt a fist latch into the base of my ponytail, yanking my out of the car by it. When we entered what I perceived to be the indoors (it was cooler, darker, and had no breeze) I was shoved onto the floor and tied to a post there. It was cold, hard, and a glimmer of despair set in when I realized that I would most likely not be sleeping in my bed tonight.

'Molly, dear, answer me a question…' stated Sebastian, 'why is Sherlock Holmes not answering the call from your phone?' He ripped the blind off of me, along with strands of hair in the process.

'I don't know.' But I did…I would never call him…in fact; I had remarked that the only time I'd ever call was if I was in serious danger…hopefully he was paying attention…

'You see, I don't believe that, Molly.' I was hit in the face again, disproving my earlier theory about it hurting more because I couldn't see…it hurt just as bad. 'Are you sure you don't know?' He was as close to my face as he could have been without touching. 'Because I wouldn't mind tearing your face off—don't think I'm beneath it.' He spit the last word, getting his cold saliva all over my face.

And then…

'Hello! Sherlock Holmes, what a pleasure it is to be speaking with you!' Why did he call back? Was he an idiot? 'Oh, don't you worry yourself…Molly is…an honored guest to me…she led me right to you! No, no I haven't harmed her…'

Then silence.

'Is Sherlock Holmes threatening _me_ over a _girl_!' Threatening? 'Mr. Holmes, I was under the impression that you quite loath sentiment, yet you do to things which go against this: One, you have a pet. Two, you bought the pet a phone with an adorable little inscription on the back!'

'Save the crap, Sherlock. I thought you were supposed to be brilliant! For someone so bright, you sure are oblivious to your own actions and what they have communicated. Your actions say you care for the girl, your words say you care for the girl, but your mind just hasn't caught up yet, now has it!' Every word he spoke stung and stabbed into my heart like a thousand poisoned dangers being twisted inside of my heart at once.

'If you're playing the silent game like your woman, then just know that the results of this from either of you will be her death—which will be sad because my other punching bags don't have such responsive faces. Sherlock-meet me at nine. No sooner, no later. We'll figure something out by then.' With that he hung up the phone, and apparently saw the screensaver for the first time. It was of me and Sherlock on my birthday, him smiling ever so slightly, me, smiling like an idiot.

'He can't love, Molly…I almost feel pity for you.' He dropped the phone of the ground just out of my reach and walked out of the room.

Great. You know you're a screw up when crazy people start feeling bad for you!

I tried to smile, but it hurt too much, and my lips were cracking, sending more blood into my mouth.

Was this worth it?

Is he worth it?

Is Sebastian right?

Can he love?

Sometimes, I wondered.

A woman came in some time later and tried to speak with me. I had fallen asleep, so I couldn't understand her at first. When my mind and eyes adjusted, her leg flew into my side, making contact with my ribs; sure she broke some of them.

'Will you answer me now!' The woman shouted.

'Y-yes.' My voice was scratchy and small, but I still managed something out.

'How does it feel to be in love with a sociopath? How does it feel to have an unrequited love?' Her question's stung, but I'd heard them a million times.

'How does it feel to be with a psychopath?' I guessed she was with Sebastian when I saw a picture of them as her background. My question was met with a laugh.

'It's wonderful.'

'What's the difference between the two?'

'Well, one is incredibly good in bed, and the other…well, I think the only time he gets aroused is when there's a dead body. You tell me which is which.'

'Since Sherlock is good in bed, I will have to say that you must have an awful relationship.' I knew that if he'd ever found out I said that he'd kill me, but right now words were all I had, so I used them.

She didn't think it was funny, and I blacked out once her handheld made contact with my head.

**What do you think? Did you expect him back? Please review and let me know!**

**-TDM**


	7. Holmes

_I can't see!_

I looked for anything, everything…

It took me a while for my eyes to adjust to the dark. When they did, I could see the woman from earlier sitting in a chair, sleeping. My breathing picked up in anger, and I felt a sharp pain stabbing me in my chest. _What a bitch. _

Hours past, and it got lighter and lighter. I looked over what I could of myself. My legs were bruised and it looked like I had sprained my ankle somewhere along the way. My shirt had been removed, and I prayed and prayed that I hadn't been raped—I was somewhat confident that I hadn't been though because the ropes around my arms had been rubbing my wrists raw in the same place the who time. I could see the place on my ribs where the woman had kicked me—it was black and purple, and had a cut running through the middle. I shivered, the condition of my body hitting me all at once. I was cold—wearing only a bra and jeans that were ripped almost to shreds. I was hungry—the last time I had eaten was the morning before. My throat was dry, because I hadn't drank anything since that time as well.

My futile attempts to release myself from my binds had caused my wrists to bleed, and I could feel the blood pooling near my palms.

'Oh, dear! I wouldn't try to do that! If you escape I'll just kill you…and Sherlock.'

'Where's my shirt?' I yelled, angrier than before.

'Well, I needed something to get Sherlock down here! You're lucky I didn't send a hand or something else.' Was this guy seriously acting like I should be _thankful?_

All of the ruckus must have woken up the woman. She came and stood beside Sebastian, insulting me to him. 'Lydia,' He said, 'how long until our guests arrive?'

The name Lydia sounded so familiar but I couldn't place it.

'Sherlock has been stalking the area since you sent him the shirt.' She smiled. 'His puppy keeps calling the phone to see if you'll answer again.'

'You can answer it if you'd like. The game is almost over now.' He answered. The game? 'Molly, darling.' He addressed me, 'I won't lie, what I'm about to do will hurt.' He smiled and lit a cigarette…'but it's the only way you'd scream.' He took a few puffs, as did Lydia on hers. Before finishing, they both put out the red hot ends on my forearms and wrists. They were wrong. I didn't scream.

They lit another. Put it out.

And another, the same pattern over and over again.

Until finally, I let it out. The pain was unbearable. I screamed and begged and screamed some more.

'There we go!' He bent down and got very near my face. 'I knew you could scream.' He blew a last bit of smoke in my face before leaving. 'Oh, by the way, Sherlock should be here any second.' At last I was alone.

For the first time in ages, I cried.

Not from fear, not from pain.

From happiness.

Sherlock was coming.

I heard the footsteps from behind me and was sure that Sebastian and Lydia were coming back.

'Molly!' The deep voice made me gasp and weep. I felt my wrists being freed from the ropes, and cool hands tracing around my burn wounds. I stood up as soon as I could—but I had forgotten about my ankle, knowing now that it was most likely broken. I feel to the floor immediately, which in turn twisted my ribcage, making me cry out in pain. Sherlock ran to me. 'Where are you injured?' He looked over my body and I saw a small blush on his cheeks.

'My ankle and my ribs.' I lifted my arm to show him the bruise on my side and he moved my pant-leg up to access my ankle.

Before I knew it he had picked me up and was walking towards the outside exit.

'No!' I cried, remembering what I had been told. 'He'll kill us! Please, please, please, please, please, Sherlock. No. I can't see you hurt!' I held onto his coat collar and tried to make him stop.

'Who! Who is it!' He stopped just before the exit.

'Sebastian…Sebastian Moran. And there was this girl…Lydia.'

Pure anger and hatred consumed his sweet features. His eyes turned hard, and wouldn't look at me.

He remembered. I sighed, knowing that this would be it…Sherlock would just give up on me forever…heck, at this point I wanted to, also.

'Molly…' He spoke my name, but it's like he didn't know I was there. He sat me down on the floor and leaned over me. 'I'm sorry. I am so sorry. But, I can only hope you won't look at me differently after this.' He kissed me. He…kissed me? Wait…okay, yes, he kissed me. That was a kiss. Then, he stood up and pulled a gun from his jacket.

'So very touching, Holmes!' The voice was followed by loud clapping and then the reappearance of Sebastian. 'Encore!'

'So, what is it you need with me?'

'Nothing. I just wanted to kill the man who so easily killed my boss…my friend.' They were in front of each other, but Sherlock's height blocked Sebastian out.

'Moriarty? Well, let me pass on the message. I. Won.'

'The game isn't over, Sherlock. Your survival wasn't the basis of winner or loser…it was her.' He pointed in my direction. 'Don't you understand? Jim knew that killing Lestrade would hurt, as would Mrs. Hudson or John…but Molly! He was being kind when not including her in his list of hits…I on the other hand can afford no such luxury.'

Sherlock was frozen. 'So, what? The plan was to have them killed the whole time, regardless of my death?'

'I don't know if you're aware of this little fact, but you're alive. You selfish bastard. You, when push came to shove, still chose to risk the lives of your friends, the life of your _lover_ so that you could live.'

I took a deep breath (regretting it as soon as it reached my lungs).

Sherlock wouldn't do something like that…

Then…

Sherlock did something much unexpected, especially for such a situation.

He laughed…apparently some cruel joke was told, and he was the only one who got the punch line.

'Don't you see, Moran? I gave up my _life _on that day. Detective work was all I had. Deducing was all I cared about. I was married to it. But I divorced it for my friends. I knew that I was living a double life and had to choose. I chose a life without my job, a life with the people I care for. So, I am dead, in a way. Just not in the literal since of which you think I should be.'

Okay, that was…I don't know…I never knew.

'Moran. Tell me why I shouldn't shoot you right now. There are no snipers, no bombs. Why should I spare you?' He lifted his gun to Moran's forehead.

'What, you're going to shoot me? I highly doubt it. You're worried about what little Miss Molly thinks about you…you wouldn't want to tarnish her thoughts of you by having her remember you as a murderer.'

'If you think that would stop me, then you're wrong. Look at her. Look what you've done to her. If you think that her condition would do anything but encourage me, then you're even more idiotic than I thought.' He whispered harshly, 'I have only one thing to say more to you…go to hell, you bastard.'

'I'll meet you there, Sher-' his word was cut off my the firing of two guns. Sherlock's on Sebastian, and another round from an unseen location.

All was fine until Sherlock's body shrank to the ground opposite of Sebastian's.

My heart stopped.

**Hey guys! What do you think? Wait until the next chapter to see what happens with Sherlock!**

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**I can't wait to post the next chapter, if you so desire me to!**

**-TDM**


	8. Leave Out All The Rest

I ran, ignoring the pain in my ankle and side, to Sherlock.

_Oh, God! Please, please, no._ My eyes overflowed with unbearable sorrow.

'Sherlock, Sherlock! Please answer me! Please don't die.'

'You didn't ask a question.' He rolled over onto his back towards me. 'And I'm not dead. But my shoulder…' I took one look and wanted to get sick. Blood changed the color of his coat and scarf near his left shoulder. He tried moving it, but in vain. His arm was unusable. 'Molly, help me get up.' I grabbed his right hand and helped him up. He shook off his coat, handing it to me. 'I know it's dirty, but you need to cover up.' Again, I could almost see a blush spread over his face.

'Holmes! What does it take to kill you?' Lydia walked in, gun in hand. She was clearly distressed. 'Because we tried a building, and now a gun and neither have worked…Now, I only have one bullet left, and three potential targets.'

I wanted to kill her.

And make it painful.

Nobody. Hurts. Him.

Nobody.

Not anymore.

'Three?' questioned Sherlock, clearly not expecting so many potentials.

'Deduce something for me: If you're here, she's there, then where is your puppy?' She laughed. 'Here, John!' She called, like you would do for a dog.

'Lydia?' John walked out from behind a pillar. He looked as if he were almost in tears.

'Don't speak. You make yourself sound desperate.' John looked as though someone stabbed him, and Sherlock responded accordingly.

'I don't know who is better at dating criminals at this point, you, John, or Molly.' He smirked. John and I grimaced. 'So, let's see. Sebastian tried to get with Molly, and you went as far as getting engaged to John, all to get to _me?_ I have a mobile, you know. You could have called.'

'No need. We were to inflict as much pain as possible before killing you. These two were the perfect way.' Lydia walked over to Sherlock looking seductive and beautiful. 'If we would have had the fortune of locating a certain Irene Adler, she would have been a much better prize.'

Irene? _Did Sherlock and she have a thing?_

Sherlock laughed, almost genuinely.

'You believe that I would come running in for _her?'_

'Well,' Lydia stated while pulling out a pad of paper, 'It's stated here that you cared for Irene, and were even depressed after her fake death.'

'I was also quite upset when my fish died as a young boy. I recall wanting to become a pirate to locate a new, better, fish.'

'And what did Irene make you want to do?'

'Remain a virgin.'

Everyone but Lydia let out a small laugh at this statement.

I personally laughed out of relief…Sherlock wasn't with her. I looked up to see John's reaction, but he had moved closer to Sherlock and Lydia, who were currently having a staring contest or sorts.

'That's odd…Molly stated that you were quite good in bed.' She looked over at me, and most likely witnessed the progression of my blush from pink to scarlet. Sherlock, on the other hand, didn't look away.

It all happened so fast.

She looked at me.

Sherlock grabbed her gun.

John, from behind, hit her in the back of the head with his own gun.

She was tied to one of the pillars.

And John and Sherlock waited.

Hours past and no one spoke.

I, my curiosity getting the best of me, was about ready to ask what was going on when…

'Do with her what you like, John.' Sherlock walked to me and intertwined his hand with mine. We walked out of the building, him warning me not to look back.

'John, just know that if you let me live, I will find you and kill you. But, if you kill me, there will be others to do the job.'

'Why? I lo-loved you.'

I couldn't hear anything else. I was too far away.

But I did here the gunshot.

I felt a tug on my hand. Sherlock dropped again.

'Sherlock, you're losing blood.' I whispered.

'Thank you, Molly, for that amazing observation!'

'What do you want me to do?'

'Help me take me shirt off.' He began pulling his shirt out from his pants. I just stared…this was a fantasy in all of the wrong circumstances…'Well? Unbutton. I can't get it with one hand.' I bent down and did as I was told, shaking from a mixture of fear for him and my stupid hormones.

Halfway down…

Okay, so he was fit. Very fit. Oh, goodness…

'Molly, please hurry.' This was almost funny…some genie somewhere was laughing at seeing my wish come true in the wrong way. The right words, the wrong setting.

I bit my lip and finished. I helped him pull it off of his shoulders.

'Okay, now put this on the back of my shoulder where the bullet exited. Then…' Crap. He needed something for the front side. I pulled off the coat he'd given me. He looked away from me, his face as red as mine most likely was.

I put pressure on the coat over the wound as he'd instructed.

'Dear God!' Sherlock and I both looked up to find John standing there, smiling and covering his eyes. 'Holmes, they have bedrooms for this sort of thing.'

I expected to be pushed away or something.

But he just smiled and laughed. 'Sorry, John. We couldn't control ourselves.' The boys laughed and I almost died of embarrassment. 'Why are you here?' he asked John. 'And does someone want to call an ambulance? I feel like I may be dying or something tragic like that.'

'Molly, may I?' John asked. I moved over for him.

'I've seen worse, John.'

Both looked at me.

'Comforting.' Stated Sherlock stated as a matter-of-fact. He looked up at me and smiled. I mouthed the words _Are you okay?_ He lipped _Never been better._ I smiled in response to his.

John studied the wound for a minute.

'Sherlock, it's pretty clean. I can get things from the hospital and I could do it at Molly's apartment.'

'Okay. Fine. Just…get me a patch. I need at least four.'

'How are we getting home?' I asked, realizing that a taxi probably wouldn't work.

Sherlock reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He scrolled through something then dialed someone.

'Mycroft, hello.' Sherlock smiled.

What I would have gave in order to have seen his reaction.

**This is not the end! There is more to come! How did you like this? Review and let me know!**

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**Much love and all!-TDM**


	9. Adoration Of The Saint

You can imagine the look on Mycroft's face when he came to fetch us.

Brutally utter…I'm not even sure…it's like he is glad he's alive but ashamed to see him…odd.

'Mycroft did you get the stitches and bandages?' He threw a bag at John and took a seat on the chair across from where Sherlock was seated. We'd given him morphine, and he'd never been quieter.

I was in the kitchen boiling water for John to disinfect his materials. 'Molly,' John said, 'is that water about done now?' It began bubbling soon after I told him no, and brought it to him the second it did.

'Will you all please be quick?' Sherlock complained. 'I'm feeling rather tired.'

And then John began stitching. Sherlock winced and I wanted to go over and yell at John for hurting him. Every tug added a new contortion of pain on his face. I grabbed his hand. He reciprocated and held onto mine, tightening his grip with each stitch. Mycroft watched his brother in silence.

'Sherlock, you should really let mummy know you're alright.' Mycroft said in a childish voice. 'She was quite distraught at hearing of your apparent suicide.' Quite distraught? I was quite distraught and I was in on the whole thing!

Sherlock glanced at me, his eyebrow raised questioningly. His index and middle finger found their way to the base of my wrist…was he…was he taking my pulse? He gently pressed beneath the dark red marks that were now my wrists.

'Mycroft, please understand that I have no intention at present to make myself known.'

'If you insist. Would you like a new identity? You must get…so bored.' He studied my flat, most likely noting the bullet holes, the rope stuck on the ceiling fan, the knife marks, and the randomly jarred body parts.

I sighed. This apparently wasn't a Holmes flat.

'I couldn't want anything from you accept the security that it will not be made known that I am still alive.' He winced and shot daggers at Mycroft with his eyes.

'Last one, Sherlock.' Fifty-two stitches later and it was now my turn to be seen by Doctor Watson. 'Molly, how can you not be in constant pain?' He asked, his kindness overflowing until there may have been a little puddle of John kindness being made on the floor.

'I'm just focusing on other things.' Sherlock removed himself from the sofa where John was working and went into his room. He had me lift up my shirt and he began (painfully) wrapping up my ribcage. I was so absorbed in my own pain that I hadn't noticed Mycroft take his leave into Sherlock's room until John had mentioned it.

'You know, he cares about you very much.' John said.

'I'm sorry?' I was sure I'd heard something else.

'Sherlock. He told me that he cared for you which may not seem like a huge deal, but this is the same man who had me convinced that he could never care for a woman in a romantic way…'

'A romantic way! John, I'm sorry but I think that we may be talking about two different people here…remember? He thinks caring is quite the disadvantage. He's told me so numerous times.'

'And do you think for a second he would have rushed in there to save just anybody?'

'I hope he would.'

'Then maybe we are talking about two different people.' John sighed. 'I'm sorry. I'm just…just…jealous.' My heart stopped…did John fancy Sherlock? There had always been rumors, but I'd always assumed they were just silly stories…

'John…if you feel that way about him…'

'Oh my God.' He looked up in the air dramatically. 'I'm _not_ GAY!' he huffed a few times before beginning work on my side again. 'I'm not gay.'

'Okay…just the way you began…' I had to restrain myself from laughter, half from pain, and half from pity.

'I was actually going to say that he has someone waiting for him when he gets home. I have an empty flat full of fake memories. I envy him for that. He has you…you take care of him no matter what he does or how he acts and god, Molly, he loves you for it. He's not oblivious to what a massive arse he can be.'

'Thanks, John. That was really nice.' I smiled; glad to have someone trying to cheer me up.

'I'm not saying that to make you happy or to be nice. It's a warning…if he ever begins acting…odd…or in his case _normal,_ don't freak out.' John hooked the bandages together and then pulled my shirt down over it. I felt better almost immediately. 'Now, for your wrists…'

This was the most painful thing I had ever been through.

He kept pulling out tiny fibers that were embedded into my skin. They felt like glass cutting me as he pulled them out with tweezers. He kept apologizing even though it wasn't him.

I closed my eyes and focused on a happier place with my cat and I watching Nevermind the Buzzcock's at midnight and eating a bowl of popcorn. Regardless, I could still feel him pulling fragments out of my wrists. A few tears escaped, and I wished this would just be over.

'Why is she crying?' A familiar deep voice asked. 'Is she in pain?'

'Well, there's a deduction of a lifetime.' Mocked John. It's true, though…there's no way this could feel _good._

'Well, there is the question of how your wrists got in such bad condition. Normally it take weeks to inflict this much damage with ropes.' Sherlock inquired. I wanted twenty questions to be over. I didn't want to be there or relive it. It's like the events of the last two days was sudden hanging upon me like the sky upon Atlas.

'I tried to wiggle out of them…multiple times.' I kept my eyes closed through this, still thinking about my happy days with Tom…

Finally, after it felt like my wrists were going to catch fire, a cool lotion covered them. 'Oh thank god.' I whispered, beyond relief that it was over.

Then it began all over again. The lotion began to burn, added to that the wraps being placed on them.

Cold.

I whipped my eyes open to see the source of relief on the wrist that was already wrapped. A bag of frozen peas rested gently on them, held in place by a pair of strong pale hands. 'Thank you, Sherlock.' I heard John cough slightly and I looked up to see him fighting back laughter.

'Are you ill, John?'

'Oh no, I'm quite fine. Well, I'm all done torturing you now!' He threw everything into the trash, and it looked like a normal living room again instead of an E.R. 'I think I will head home…I have quite a bit I need to do.' He gave me a look like I should be trying to get him out…but I didn't want him to go…I didn't want things to change so soon…

How funny. I get my wish and now I don't know what to do with it. 'Goodbye John. I'll text you…' I thought about it for a moment. 'Never mind—I don't have a phone.' Just when I began to learn how to use it properly… 'I'll stop in.'

'I'd like that.'

'Goodbye John.' Sherlock said, 'See you soon.' He smiled and watched his friend leave.

'Where's Mycroft?' I asked, realizing I hadn't seen him.

'He left as you were getting your bandages put on.'

'Sherlock…I'm so sorry.'

He looked confused. 'For what?'

'What do you think?'

'I think a lot of things…the main one to enter my mind recently is that you have a thing for psychopaths and sociopaths which could present quite a few problems with remaining safe.'

'Yeah, I'm thinking about not dating for a while…it's never really worked out before, so I think I may just give up.'

'Don't worry, Molly. There are still a few criminals you haven't dated yet in the greater London area.'

'Funny.' I said, realizing slowly how true his words were. 'Well, I'm going to take a shower.' I said, walking into my bedroom, slowly removing large sweater John had leant me and my dingy khaki pants. The hot water felt splendid and I stayed in until I turned all pruny and wrinkly.

I hoped out, through on pajama's and dressing gown, fed my cat (who I'm sure Sherlock would have let die), and then sat in the living room watching reruns of Doctor Who. That's where I fell asleep, in the safety of my house and the comfort of my couch.

I awoke to an uncomfortable pulling at my wrists the next morning. Nimble fingers were there, wrapping fresh white gauze around my wrist. 'Good morning.'

'Uhm, good morning Sherlock. What are you doing?'

'Changing your wraps. John said to do so every eight hours or if you bled through them.' Sherlock never looked away from my wrists until he was done with them both. 'There.' He stood up and walked back into his domain as if this were a normal occurrence.

I stretched my legs and then headed into my room. I planned on sleeping the rest of the day away in the bed.

Something caught my eye.

On the middle of the bed, a box wrapped in blue paper with a small card lie alone.

I walked over, and when I opened it I smiled.

Thank you.

-MH

Send.

**What? What is that I hear? Is that the sound of many fangirl ships entering port?**

**xD **

**So yes, some smut x)**

**From here it looks as if this will be the story of how Sherlock grows into the man with emotions xD**

**Please please please review!**

**Also!**

**There are a few songs if you'd like to check them out that have been my inspiration!**

**Always-Panic! At the Disco**

**Trade Mistakes-Panic! At the Disco**

***Thanks babies ;)**


	10. The Awakening

I couldn't concentrate.

I was sitting on the couch reading a book…I'd stayed up all night doing so. So, I was half delirious when at five in the morning a half-naked Sherlock made his way into the room.

'Good morning, Molly.' He pranced in shirtless, only the blue top sheet from his bed covering the lower part of his body. He had bandages in his hand, and came to sit right in front of me. It was a routine now…only normally he was dressed. I held out my hands, trying not to look, but failing miserably. I finally decided to focus on his scar. The stitches made him look like Frankenstein's monster, and when I told him so he laughed.

'Sherlock, are you wearing any clothes?' I asked, looking down at the sheet for a split second.

'No.'

'Okay.' His eyebrow rose, and a smirk was evident on his mouth.

'So, what book possessed you into staying up all night?' He inquired, finishing the last wrap on my wrist.

'Guess.'

'I never guess, Molly. I observe.'

'Then observe. Deduce. Do what you do best!'

'Well, last night you were reading Twelfth Night, which doesn't take long so it couldn't have been the sole reason you were up, and the fact that you stayed up to read it means that the book is important to you. Add that with the smell of an old book and the dust patches on the sofa were you wiped off the cover, I'd say you were reading Pride and Prejudice.'

I was stunned. Beyond stunned. I could hardly get out the words I needed to so badly…

'You're wrong.'

His whole demeanor seemed to change. 'Oh, am I?'

'I was reading Much Ado About Nothing.' I picked up the book that had made its way between the cushions.

'Hmm.' He stood up and stalked away towards his room.

John came over that morning around six, right as I was headed to work.

'Are you going in early?' John asked, noting my normal departure time at eight.

'Yeah, I have to train a girl. But, I get to leave earlier so that's a plus!' I slipped on my shoes and headed out, waving goodbye to John and telling him where I stashed the food behind the arm in the fridge.

When I walked into the morgue there was a small petite girl, maybe my age, with pale blond hair that matched her pale skin.

'Hello, I'm Doctor Hooper.' I introduced myself.'

'Mary Morstan.' She smiled, and I noted how dainty she looked and wondered if she would hold up during the process of dissecting a human.

I opened the first bag, a rather large gentleman that had clearly died of a heart attack. But, the family didn't believe so, so we had to run an autopsy.

'What do you observe, Mary?' She wrinkled her nose and stared at the body.

'Well, he's large…and looks as if he's lived a rather sedimentary lifestyle. He has a lot of cuts and bruises; even though they are old they haven't healed. That's a sign of diabetes. He was a smoker, too. If you can't tell by smell you can tell because his fingernails are yellow around the edges. That's all I see.'

Whoa, a female Sherlock—frightening. 'What would you think the cause of death is?' I asked her, seeing if she could unravel what I already knew.

'Untreated diabetes.'

'No. His diabetes was treated. His fingertips tell the story. Feel them and look closely. They are rough and have very small puncture marks.' She wrote this down on her tablet and looked back to me.

'So, what was his cause of death then?'

'That's what the autopsy is for.'

After we'd discovered that my suspicions were correct, the case was closed and we could go home. I was changing in the locker room when she approached me.

'So, how long have you been working here?' I looked at Mary again, this time she looked even daintier, dressed in a soft sundress and jacket with sandals.

'Just about six years now.'

'I guess that means you're away from home a lot.'

'Yeah, well, I have to pay the bills somehow.'

She laughed. 'True, true. Well, I know this may seem so odd, but I was wondering if you had a friend or something you could set me up with…I haven't had much luck in the dating area lately and you look like someone who has lots of guy friends.'

I wasn't sure how to take the last part of her comment, but I did happen to have a friend who was looking for a date… 'I actually do! He's at my flat right now, I believe, if you'd like to meet him!'

She looked at me for a second and then declared that we should be on our way.

_John, be at my flat in ten minutes. I want you to meet someone._

-MH

_Who?_

-JW

_The girl I trained today…I think you'd like her._

-MH

_Fine. I'll be there._

-JW

_Who's coming to the flat?_

-SH

_The girl I trained today…who told you?_

-MH

_John._

-SH

She hadn't stopped talking since we'd left, and we were at my flat now. When we walked in John and Sherlock were playing a board game, John yelling at Sherlock, Sherlock explaining why his conclusion was the only possible answer.

'John, this is Mary Morstan.' He looked up and for a second I thought his eyes would pop out.

'H-hello.' He stood up and made his way to her, shaking her hand and smiling.

'Hi. It's John Watson, right?'

'Y-yes that's it.'

'It's very nice to meet you.' They were still shaking hands long after it was appropriate. I sat down next to Sherlock, watching them as he was.

'God I need a boyfriend.' I said absentmindedly. Before I knew it Sherlock was off the couch and in his bedroom. _Great. _I went into my room, getting somewhat annoyed by John and Mary's apparent happiness. I took a shower, washing in my usual work routine, and went to sleep, not bothering to cloth myself.

I normally tried to control my thoughts about Sherlock, but in my dreams there were no limits.

We'd just the best sex of my life.

And he was lying in the bed next to me, rubbing over my now scarred wrists. _Ouch._ He quickly stopped, but I could still feel the pain, and it seemed to be more real than I had previously thought.

My eyes flicked open and saw Sherlock on the side of my bed, gently rubbing the pink fleshy scars on my wrist. I looked down to make sure I was covered and luckily was. 'You don't need to wear the wraps anymore.' He said.

'How is your shoulder doing?'

'It's getting better.'

'Let me see.' I sat up, wrapping the blanket around me simultaneously.

'Um, no.' He started to get up, but I grabbed his wrist and he remained seated. 'Fine.' He began unbuttoning his shirt, and pulled it off his shoulder so I could examine it. He was sitting on the side of the bed facing the wall, legs over the side. I was behind him, looking over every aspect of his wound.

I had the uncontrollable urge to wrap my arms around him. I snaked my arms under his and wrapped my arms around his middle. I laid my head on his shoulder.

I felt his head lean against mine, and his hand intertwine with mine. I could feel his heartbeat beneath my hand, it was quick, and his skin was warm. His whole upper body had taken on a pink hue, and I could feel him shiver slightly.

He turned around and looked at me, his face flushed. He leaned in and hesitated, but eventually his lips pressed against mine curiously. He pulled away after a minute and looked at me in an odd new way.

'I have to go.' I looked him over as he left, and found the source of his problem very clearly below his waist.

So, Sherlock Holmes wasn't asexual after all. I reached for my phone and sent him a text.

_What's wrong?_

-MH

He didn't respond immediately as he normally does. In fact, it was several minutes before he replied.

_I'm fine now. Nothing to worry about._

-SH

**Hey babies :) Sorry the update took so long! Between my AP English class and prom I had no time! I hope this was worth the wait though!**

**Please review and let me know what you think :)**

**Love you!**

**-TDM**


	11. Faisons l'amour

**WARNING!**

**This chapter may or may not contain a smuty citrus fruit...**

**In fact that's sort of all this chapter, so if you want to skip you**

**won't be missing out on the story...this is just some (in my opinion)**

**a much needed smut fest! **

John came around less often than he normally did now that he had Mary. I was so happy for the both of them, and happy that I was the one that set them up.

Sherlock, on the other hand, seemed less than thrilled.

'She's very…monotonous.' He'd commented one day.

'They could watch a movie here.' He'd said another time.

He missed his best friend, and I couldn't blame him. John, for the last six months, had kept him company.

I was (guiltily) somewhat happy…Sherlock seemed to be a lot more… (Dare I say) romantic when John wasn't around to mock him (although I'm sure Sherlock told him everything).

And when I say romantic, I use the term loosely. I believe the word for other people may be friendly…

'Good night, Sherlock.' He smiled at me (as was routine) and reciprocated.

I still thought about the kiss from a little over a month ago…I thought things were progressing, things were going somewhere…but they weren't.

I recall my move…my wrapping my arms around him and then him kissing me…but then he'd noticed his sexuality emerge and BAM! He was gone.

That night I had a nightmare about Sherlock getting hurt…again. This was the fifth time this week. Once I had it I was so shaken up I couldn't sleep. So for five days now I had been running on very little sleep…I bet I was a joy to be around.

_I was walking into a dark room with a single light that seemed to shine on the naked body on the ground, which was contorted into the fetal position. It was trembling, and its dark curls were matted with blood. The pale skin of it was covered in bruises. As I got closer the bile rose and I almost got sick. Sherlock. Sherlock was lying there bleeding to death. Molly, he gasped. I need you, Molly. I'm here! I shouted. I ran to get to him but when I arrived it was too late. The life had gone from his eyes, the brilliant blue shine removed permanently. _

I woke up sobbing loudly, and screamed a few incoherent words before I realized where I was.

'Molly!' My door flew open and the light was turned on. Sherlock, donning only his pajama pants was in my doorway, clearly half asleep. 'What's wrong?' I must have looked like a train wreck.

'I-I just had a-a nightmare.' I wiped the still flowing tears from my eyes and tried to put on a smile but failed miserably.

'Don't smile like that…it's frightening.' I let out a small little laugh along with him, knowing he was oddly trying to make me feel better. He shut off the light and closed the door. I laid back down, trying to concentrate on sleep. I turned on my side and witnessed my covers bunching up beside me and felt someone crawl onto the empty side of my bed.

'Just try to go back to sleep.' He whispered in his deep melodic voice.

Yeah right. I was more awake than ever now, and my heart was probably going about 1.5 million miles per hour.

'Just calm down.' He added. I took in a sigh of relief. He thought I was still _upset._

He was so near to me that I could feel the heat coming off of his chest. I placed my hand over his heart and it was going as fast as mine. 'Your hands are rather cold, Molly.' I began to remove it, but instead he wrapped it in both of his and replaced it back over his heart when it was warm.

'Are you nervous?' I asked him.

'N-yes.'

'About what?'

'You.'

'Why me?' I could see his face in the dark, and he was looking at everything but me. I placed my hands on both sides of his face. 'Look at me. You can trust me.'

'I know. I always have trusted you.' He looked straight at me before propping himself up on one elbow. I thought he was leaving, but he instead moved himself so that he was over me—his hands on either side of my head and his legs on either side of my right thigh. I gulped. He leaned down and placed his lips on mine, gently, testing the waters. I answered slightly more…viscous. I ran my fingers through his curls, locking my hands on the back of his head pulling him towards me. I ran my tongue across his bottom lip softly and he reciprocated, making me let out a moan that seemed to deepen the kiss.

When he pulled away I was out of breath, and he was placing a kiss on my neck.

I wanted him. Now. And I wasn't sure if I'd take no for an answer. He was still over me, looking at me with a smirk. Then he went back to his place on the bed and fell asleep.

Great, now I'm tired and sexually frustrated. I'll be a real joy in the morning.

This went on for a week. Every time would end the same, no closer to what I wanted. But all I could think about was Sherlock.

His lips and how soft and full they were, and how they seemed to be made for her lips.

Or maybe his eyes, and how they seemed to be able to read her mind.

Maybe it was his body and how it would hover over her night after night, him clearly aroused, myself internally pissed but my thoughts covered with his apparent oozing sexiness.

I sounded mad. Is this the result of not getting laid in a very long time?

That plus having the biggest tease living you your flat.

My life.

That night was like all the others, Sherlock joining me in my bed and teasing me.

Except when he rolled over to go to sleep I attacked. I straddled him, me finally on top and in somewhat control of the situation. I could feel him beneath me, clearly aroused.

'Thank god, you're finally cluing in.' He said. 'I didn't know if I could last another night.' He rolled me over so he was on top of me. He sat up on his knees, pulling me along, yanking off my shirt in the process. He kissed me, almost frantic, and I feeling the same kissed back. I broke away and made my way down his chest, kissing lightly along the way. His breathing picked up and he lied back on his back, letting me continue. I traced the elastic band around his pants with my fingernail, making him shiver. His hands pull down on his pants, exposing him. I laughed and gently kissed the tip of his erection, making him moan. I ran my tongue along the same area and before I knew it he was begging for me.

'Molly,' he gasped. 'please.'

'No.'

'What?' He sat back up, and looked at me with longing and questioning eyes.

'You deserve this. You have teased me every day for a week. This is what you did to me.' I smiled coyly, but before I could say anything else a pair of warm lips had engulfed my own, and anxious hands tore away the remainder of my clothing. I laughed, expecting this sort of reaction from him. He groaned as I ran my hands down along his chest and stomach, stopping short of where he wanted me to be.

I never thought that he would have done what he did next.

He pulled me to the edge of the bed, and slid off as he ran kissed down my chest, making me moan as he sucked on my nipples, a feeling that I never thought could feel so good. He made his was down and grazed his index finger along never going any further.

'Sherlock!' I yelled, needing him to do something. He didn't, so I did. I could feel his eyes watching me rub, and he quickly took my place, enhancing the experience to the nth degree. I lost all thoughts of my somewhat revenge as a cloud of pleasure over took my brain and a warmth began in my stomach.

'Sh-Sherlock.' I gasped. When I did this he stopped. The tension was almost painfully built up in my stomach.

'Molly.' He crawled back beside me, again hovering over me, both of us flushed and ready. I grabbed his erection and guided it to my entrance. It being so close made me want to scream at him to go, hurry!

He took a breath and entered me, both of us gasping.

'Oh god.' He mumbled. He took a second and the started slowly, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration and his eyes squinted shut.

'Sherlock,' I moaned, and his eyes were suddenly open and aware. His breathing was loud and uneven, the occasional grunt escaping through his slightly parted lips. 'Faster.'

He did as I commanded, going faster and faster, until I could feel the sweet lava coil up in me, getting tighter and tighter before it snapped, sending me flying over the edge. He was kissing me with every thrust, each thrust going faster and deeper than the one before it.

'Sherlock! Oh, god. Sherlock!' My nails dug into his back as I reached the peak.

'Molly,' he said, deep and raspy, his voice even more gorgeous than before as he took one last thrust and climaxed. He rolled over to my side and grabbed my hand, the both of us still breathing heavily.

'My head,' he said, 'I literally cannot think of anything right now!' I laughed at him, savoring the moment when Sherlock Holmes couldn't think. I moved my body towards him, and him awkwardly wrapping his arm around me. I was so tired, that after a second I was asleep.

But before I drifted off I swear I heard

_I think I may love you, Molly Hooper._

**What do you think? Did Molly imagine Sherlock admitting his love?**

**Please review for the continuation of the story! :)**

**Love you, babies! **

**-TDM**

**PS- Did anyone decide to translate the title? No? Try it. ;)**


	12. Hidden In Plain Sight

I sat in bed watching him sleep, and took note of some things I found odd.

He seemed to me very skinny, liked he'd lost weight

Even in sleep his heart beat was racing beyond control

He slept as though he hadn't in days

Maybe I was being overdramatic. Maybe he was fine and I am fretting over nothing. Or, as the little voice inside my head was saying, maybe something was wrong—maybe he's ill. I reached out and took his wrist in my hand, once again checking his pulse. Ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-dum, all too fast. I overlooked him again, watching the sunlight emphasize his chest, arms, and face—creating shadows that made his cheeks look even more sunken in, his high cheekbones even more prominent.

I studied his arms, mainly the one that he had placed (in his sleep), on my lap. He was pale; I was supposing this was because he never made it an occasion to tan. I couldn't blame him—I wasn't exactly above pasty myself. He had two large veins that were quite predominant down his forearm, finally ending at his wrist. Three tan patches also made their home there. Nicotine patches…He went through an awful lot of them. I gently pushed on one whose side was coming up.

'What are you doing?' He asked me as if he'd never been asleep.

'Just fixing your patch.'

He yanked his arm away from me and left my room.

That hurt. That really, truly, hurt.

Okay, so note to self, don't touch Sherlock's patches. I didn't want to pry, but why had he done that?

I removed myself from bed and put on my dressing gown.

'Sherlock?' I made my way towards his door. 'I'm sorry—I didn't know that you didn't want it fixed.' I felt stupid. I was apologizing through a closed door. Suddenly that door opened, and I was met with a Sherlock I didn't know…

'Molly,' he spat, franticly, 'you think you're so tricky, playing your stupid mind games, don't you?'

'What are you talking about?'

'I don't know what you think you could do…what you tried to do…were you trying to drive me mad? Planting yourself in my brain? A thought I couldn't get rid of? Is that your idea of a good time?'

His voice was soft but his words were cutting. 'Sherlock,'

'No, no. You listen. Whatever you're doing, just quit. You're making me sick. Every time I look at you I feel sick. I can't stop thinking about you…it's obsessive. You're there, no matter what I do. When I eat and sleep and bathe and walk and talk and _breathe_. Every time I want to talk it's about you. When I think it's about you. I can't concentrate and it's driving. Me. Insane.'

A tear rolled down my face, and my heart felt as if it'd been ripped in half. Yet I felt hopeful. 'Sherlock. I didn't—'

'I'm not finished yet, Molly. Molly. Molly. You're so beautiful. And yet you're so easy.' My heart dropped. 'I thought that it was what I needed. I needed _you._ No, no. You're the problem. I fell hard and deep and rooted my heart into my problem. My beautiful little problem. I should have run far away. But you know you would have plagued me no matter where I went. I thought that if I went to you that it'd be over, that I would be free from this constant illness, but I'm not. It's like a drug, Molly. A drug that makes me so sick but I want it so much. A drug that is at my disposal, that's for my use only whenever I want it. But here's the problem—I want it now. I want it the next second and the next and the next and then I have it. But once it's over I can't think, and when I do think I think about it…A cycle. A never ending cycle of stupidity and obsession that makes me so, so sick.'

I felt sick now. I wiped away the tears from my face, trying to preserve what little control I had over my emotions.

'Even now,' He continued, 'Even now I just want to take it all back, to make it all better.' He looked at me with those eyes that I didn't know. 'I hurt. I am in physical pain watching you cry and I have no idea why that is. It feels like I'm being stabbed, Molly.'

'Imagine that.' I said beneath my breath, no longer wanting to hear him. It's like my world had begun to topple over. Or, at least the pedestal that I had placed him on had fallen. 'That…that's really just awful of you to say.' I walked away, only turning around when I heard quite a large thump.

I looked back and saw him slumped on the floor, eyes closed, no longer speaking.

'Sherlock?' I ran over to him and tried to get him to speak. 'Sherlock, if you can hear me please say something.' I grabbed his wrist and checked his pulse. Thump, thump, thump, thump, thump. Even faster than before. I ran as fast as I could and called an ambulance.

'What's your emergency?'

'My boyfriend, he just passed out on the floor. Something's wrong, he's not responding.'

'What's your name and address?' I gave her both and she noted they were on their way.

'What's your boyfriend's name?' I blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

'John Smith! Please hurry!'

'We should be there any second. Just try to calm down, ma'am. You don't want to hyperventilate. Try taking deep breaths.'

'You try taking deep breaths when you're boyfriend collapses on the floor!' I screamed at the poor lady. Before I knew it there was a knock at my flat door. I ran and opened it and showed them where he was.

He was limp, but not lifeless. I watched as they placed him on the stretcher and took him away.

'Miss,' the nurse from the ambulance said. 'We're going to take him to Saint Bart's, okay? In the meantime we're going to send in an investigator to help you fill out his medical history.' I nodded and watched as a familiar detective strode through my door.

'Molly!' He seemed shocked.

'Inspector Lestrade!' I felt my whole plan falling through my fingers the moment I laid eyes on him in my flat.

'Sorry about this…the hospital is a bit short staffed today, so I was asked to help.'

'It's fine. Let's just get it finished so I can be with him, please.'

'What's his name?'

'John Oliver Smith.'

'John Smith, eh? What, are you hiding a fugitive or something?' He laughed and looked at the stretcher as Sherlock was being carried out.

Lestrade stood up and followed the nurses outside.

I could hear him saying 'what?' between swearing and saying nonsense.

He came storming back in.

'What the bloody hell is that, Molly?'

'I don't think I know what you're talking about.'

'Why is Sherlock Holmes on that stretcher? Why the hell is he in your apartment? How is he even _alive?_'

'Lestrade, hurry up so I can be with him.'

'This is not my division. Definitely not my division!' He threw the clipboard down and I watched as he and the ambulance both drove away.

I picked up my phone and dialed the only person I knew would be able to help.

'John? It's Molly.' My voice was shaky and the tears ran again. 'Sherlock's in the hospital.'

The line went dead and I got dressed and took a cab to the hospital. When I arrived John was out front waiting on me.

'They won't let anyone back with him. He's in ICU.'

'What's wrong? Do they know what happened?'

'No, but they suspect something…' His voice trailed off as if he didn't want me to know.

'What is it John?' He looked at me, and leaned in close, and whispered the answer in my ear.

Time stood still and silly questions received answers.

I couldn't believe what I'd just been told.

**Please review and let me know what you think! **

**And, yes, I am sort of an angster. **

**I. Love. Angst. **

**It gives you something to look forward to.**

**Again, please review! I have loved them all so far!**

**Thank you, my faithful readers/reviewers! **

**I love you all!**

**-TDM**


	13. A Waiting Game

The best thing about Mary Morstan was that she was easy to talk to and relate to. I didn't have to make false pretenses to hide behind around her. That's what made her my friend at first. Now she was a friend because of the little things. The pillows, the food (although it remained mostly uneaten), the blankets, the sweet remarks, and her overly sincere attitude when she said she would listen when I was ready to talk. I used this to my advantage, because I felt that Mary being John's girlfriend, she would know something.

She sat the cup of coffee in front of me like the four days that had passed. 'Do you need anything else, hun?' She patted my hand reassuringly.

'I need someone to talk to.'

'Am I okay to talk to? I understand if you need to talk to someone else about it.'

'Why wouldn't he tell me something like this?' The question had haunted me since the day it happened.

'Would you tell someone? Better yet, would you tell maybe the only person in the world who cares? He didn't want to lose you Molly, and he thought he was strong enough to do it alone and failed.'

'I think I would tell, but I am so unlike him…but I wouldn't have cared…I would have tried to help him.' I began to cry again, looking up at Sherlock's comatose state. The heart monitor was my only assurance he was alive.

'Mary, Molly.' Mary ran and embraced her loving boyfriend. 'I think I got everything. I flushed it all down your sink.' He looked half proud and half defiant.

'John, tell Molly what you told me about Sherlock's…situation…' She looked at me, 'I don't want to mess it up…John tells things so well.' They gave each other the lovers smile and he began.

'Molly, I found out soon after we met that he'd had some issues staying away from drugs. But when I met him he was clean and had been, according to him, for months.'

'So he'd used cocaine before this, too?' My mind was numb to the idea.

'Yes…it helped him think. On days when he didn't have cases he would use it to keep his brain active.'

I turned my chair back towards Sherlock and replaced my hand where it'd been for four days. John and Mary left at noon as they did every day and back at six to leave me dinner which didn't get eaten. Nothing seemed to ever change. His eyes stay closed, his lips closed, tubes going from his nose, and his chest slowly rising and falling.

Day six and seven came with nothing new. Mary had brought me clothes to the hospital and I showered in the locker rooms. Mary, bless her, had also taken over all of my hours "until further notice." I didn't mind. She was brilliant and knew what she was doing.

Every night around three when London gets as quiet as it'll ever be, I sit and think. I think about how serious his condition is, what would happen if he…I stopped the thought. I pulled out my phone and sent a message, as I had done on the nights previous, to Sherlock. Of course his phone was at the flat, but it still felt good. It felt as if he was just waiting for me at the flat to come home.

_My Dearest Sherlock_

_Day One_

_I am properly frightened for you. I see you here and it's like you're not you. You seemed to have blacked out from the mixture of toxins in your blood stream…I'd find a more reputable dealer next time…you would have laughed at that. But please know that I don't look down on you. I still…I still love you, Sherlock. _

_-MH_

_My Dearest Sherlock_

_Day Two_

_Mary and John have been so sweet, but I swear if she makes me one more casserole I will throw it out of a very tall window. I've had breakfast casserole, green bean casserole, tuna casserole, and even some disgusting concoction called carrot casserole. I saved the last one for you...I want you to see what I've dealt with. I still love you._

_-MH_

_My Dearest Sherlock_

_Day Three_

_Your heart rate finally is at a normal level. That's so good. You're finally on the road to recovery. When you get home you can probably dissect my cat…I'm sure he's dead by now. You would enjoy that, right? Plus I think I'm going to make some really good pasta. You like my pasta, don't you? Anything you want, I'll make it for you. Anything. I still love you._

_-MH_

_My Dearest Sherlock_

_Day Four_

_I finally found the courage to ask what drug did this to you. Inserting cocaine through your nicotine patches? I should have been able to tell…I should have been there for you and I'm so sorry. I should have been there to help you away from the edge but instead I was pushing you towards it. You said you can't think around me, and John says that the cocaine stimulates your mind. It's okay. It's much better for me to back off than for this to ever happen to you again. I'm just happy that you're asleep for all of the withdrawal symptoms. I still love you._

_-MH_

_My Dearest Sherlock_

_Day Five_

_Today I'm starting to worry about whether your mind will be okay. I hope you are the same brilliant man as when I first met you. You are the most brilliant man. Like comparing the sun to the northern star. You are my sun, in a way. Constant, reliable, and always able to cheer me up on a bad day, or give me sunburn when I forget to apply it. I want to wash your hair. You would want it washed, right? I still love you._

_-MH_

_My Dearest Sherlock_

_Day Six_

_Mycroft came in today. He said that this has happened to you before. He said that the cocaine was tainted with some weird thing I'd never heard of before. I'd say that you could study it but John flushed it all. I think it goes without saying that the flat is probably a mess. Oh, well. Time to clean it will come eventually. First, let's focus on getting you home. I still love you._

_-MH_

_My Dearest Sherlock_

_Day Seven_

_You've been here a week now and I'm scared. I wish you'd wake up and say something to me…anything at all, really. I just need to hear your voice. Please, just say something…anything. I still love you._

_-MH_

Eight days. I wished he would just snap out of it, I just wish something would happen. Mycroft said the previous one last only about a day or so.

'Sherlock…' I looked at his sunken in face and wanted to cry. 'What do you want me to do? I can help you. Please let me help you. I love you so, so much. I know that you can't…don't feel that way towards me but I feel that way about you. And I'm sorry. I'm sorry for being the thing you detest the most. I wish I could change for you, Sherlock. I wish I could be smart and cunning like Irene or maybe as beautiful, but I'm not. I'm just plain old Molly. I'm sorry. I wish I could have done more. I could have been less hard on you…maybe gotten you new equipment to keep your mind busy. Anything.' I broke down. I could have prevented this, but my stupidity wouldn't allow for that until it was too late. 'Sherlock! Please! My god please just…be here…be here with me.'

I fell asleep on the side of his bed that night, against his side. It was the first sleep of over a week, and a most unwelcomed one with most unwelcomed dreams.

_I felt so tired, and every time I tried to stand I was pushed back to the earth by an invisible force. I looked up and saw nothing, but heard the most beautiful resonating voice that had ever spoken. 'I think I love you, Molly Hooper.' I tried to reach again, and again was pushed. I pleaded. Let me up. I love him, too, so why can't I be with him? The familiar voice spoke again. The path of true love never did run smooth. True love? Then the screams began. 'You deceitful woman!' 'I hate you!' 'Why could you do this to me?' 'You could have saved me!' I wanted the tortured voice to quit, I scream for it to be quiet...It's not my fault! It's not my fault!_

__My eyes snapped open to complete darkness. I checked my phone...4am. Only 4. Why couldn't it be later? Something may happen later, but nothing happens at four. Nothing happens...

I sat up from the uncomfortable position I had been in.

I heard a small voice, scratchy and high. 'Molly? Molly Where is Molly?' His lips moved and I could see his eyes moving beneath the lids. 'I can't see! Where's Molly?'

'I'm here, I'm here.' I hummed at him. 'Nurse! Nurse!' I screamed. Suddenly a small nurse came in to see about the commotion. 'He's awake! He's awake! He was just calling for me, just now!'

The nurse took her station and asked him question after question.

'What's your name?' She would ask.

'Where's Molly?' She looked at me questioningly. 'I can't see...am I blind?'

'No, you're eyes are just a little swollen. I'll be back with some warm water.' She ran out to fetch the water.

'Molly?'

'I'm here.'

'I hurt so bad. Everything...where am I?'

'Saint Bart's.'

'Clearly, Molly. I'm not daft I know I'm in Saint Bart's, but where.' He didn't sound as impressive with his voice all high and scratchy.

'Room 1 of the ICU.'

'Why there? What happened?'

'We were...speaking and you fainted.'

'I don't faint.' He said matter of factly.

'Well, you did.'

'I've obviously been here a while...give me the damage report...'

'Eight days.'

He grimaced. 'And why are you still here?'

I backed away. 'I was worried. Do you want me to go?'

'No. Please stay. I would like you to stay with me.'

At this the nurse returned and washed away eight days worth of sleep residue from his eyes.

He blinked a few times and told the nurse she could go, that he was fine.

'Molly!' He yelled. 'My god you've lost eleven pounds!'

'Eleven? I hadn't noticed.' I sudden became self conscious.

'When's the last time you ate?'

'I honestly don't remember. It's not like you look any better. You've lost more that eleven pounds.'

'They told you?' I shook my head no. 'Why?'

'I'm not family.'

'Mycroft told you?'

'No, John did. He knew about your...thing...before...Mycroft told him.'

'Have you been home?'

'No.'

'Why?'

'What's for me there?'

'Everything.'

'Yet nothing at all.' He studied me for a second.

'I'm so exhausted, Molly.' He rolled his head back on his pillow.

'Then go back to sleep.'

'But I've only just woke up!' He said as if I was daft for suggesting such an idea.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed, minding his IV's and other tubes, and slid off the bed.

I got to him just as he fell, My body breaking the fall for his.

'It feels like ages since I've seen you from this angle.' He laughed, his voice still weak, gasping for painful breaths after each word.

'I wished you would wake up after the withdrawal.'

He lied his head on my chest. 'Me too, Molly. Me too.'

**Hey babies! Please review!**

**The button should be right about-UNDER HERE!**

**I love you all!**

**-TDM**


	14. A New Norm

He went home with permission from the on-call doctor, Mister John Watson, a week after being coherent enough to understand the severity of his situation. Sherlock had wanted to leave and go home the second he'd heard of what was going on, not wanting to go to some sort of rehab. Of course, John had contemplated making him go through a rehabilitation program, but thinking twice of it and decided that either Sherlock or some other poor soul would die.

His voice was almost back, but he could hardly walk at all. Anywhere in the flat he went I had to accompany him. I didn't mind. I didn't want him to get hurt. He was getting better at walking the more he did it.

The withdrawal symptoms were the worst of all. I couldn't imagine the pain he was constantly going through. Not to mention the mood swings that he constantly went through.

'Molly, will you please get me some patches?' He'd asked one day, pointing out a small drawer in the living room near the television.

'No.' I didn't look at his face. I knew that if I so much as glanced at him I would give in.

'And why not?' His voice was a mixture of disbelief and pain.

'If you want one, then it will be in my sight at all time, and I will put it on you. If it's in there that means it's an old package…' I left it at that, and so did he. He apparently thought I wouldn't clue in. I finally received the courage to look at him, and he was staring out the window, his body in its constant tremor, his face currently flushed.

'John didn't get them all.' Sherlock handed me four medium sized bags with an off white powder in the bottom. 'A perfectly fine way to waste one's money.'

'I'd say.'

'May I at least have my phone?'

'I don't have your phone.' He slowly stood up and began to totter. I began to stand up for him to lean on, but he rejected my attempts. 'I'm going alone, Molly.' He walked as a small toddler would walk; weary of its new ability, into his room.

'Please be careful.' There was no answer to my request.

Sherlock looked like a skeleton. He had lost maybe twenty pounds….twenty pounds that his already slight figure needed. He still wasn't hungry, although I did make him eat at least one meal a day, regardless of whether or not he's hungry. He had developed a permanent darkness under his eyes that made him appear dead. At night, when he slept, he would shake and squirm and call out. Sometimes I thought that he was awake, and would try to talk him out of his fit...it never worked. In the morning I woke him up by six (at his request), and he was very off beat and cold the rest of the day…this was a pattern I wasn't going to be too fond of.

I laid my head back in the chair that I had made my home. I was asleep before I had time to realize what I was doing.

For the first time in a long, long time, I didn't dream.

And if I did, my memory didn't allow me to retain it.

When I awoke the first thing I felt was the pain that had replaced the initial comfort of the chair. I groaned as I pushed myself into a different position and eventually out of the chair. I glanced at the clock…one thirty at night…great. A whole day wasted. I drug myself into my room and made myself take the much needed shower that I had planned on earlier in the day.

Drowsiness seemed to cling to me as the hot water poured on my body. I gave myself a once-over, as I usually did, and noticed how much damage my apparent eleven pound weight loss had done. I could see my bottom ribs more predominately than before, and my stomach looked sunken in…I had lost more than eleven pounds…I hurried my shower, not wanting to see more.

I saw my bed across the room and did what I like to call a sprint-and-dive. Only, when I dove I landed face first into the back of Sherlock.

'What! What's going on?' He shouted in his sleepy delirium.

'Nothing! I'm so sorry are you alright!' I rolled off of him and studied his back, hoping to have avoided breaking him even further than I in the past had done.

'I am fine, why? What did you just on me for?' He looked seriously confused.

'I felt like…jumping.' I said, glad for the dark so he didn't have to see my stupidity as well as hear it.

He laughed. He laughed only a little laugh but I couldn't help but smile.

'You felt like jumping? Molly Hooper, you are the strangest person I have ever met.'

'How so? Because I like jumping into a bed I've not known since about fifteen days ago?'

'And because you sent me texts while I was in a coma…what'd you think I was going to do, wake up to respond to you?'

Oh god. I'd forgotten about the texts.

'Eh, Sherlock…those texts…'

'Those texts, what?' He sat up eye level with me.

'Please don't mock me for them.'

He looked at me and then laid back down, his back facing me. I turned myself to be in the same direction. Suddenly, my phone went off.

_I wasn't going to mock you. _

_-SH_

_What were you going to do then?_

_-MH_

_I don't know. I don't know what to say. _

_-SH_

_That's okay. _

_-MH_

_I'm sorry I made you worry so much._

_-SH_

_When's the last time you've slept?_

_-MH_

_The same as you._

_-SH_

_Then sleep._

_-MH_

_I can't sleep, but I'm tired. It's incredibly frustrating._

_-SH_

_Sherlock, have I ever told you that you are the most brilliant man I have ever met?_

_-MH_

_No. No, you haven't._

_-SH_

_Well, you are. And don't forget it._

_-MH_

He turned around in the bed and curved his body with mine and wrapped his arm around my waist.

'Thank you.' He whispered in my ear.

I fell asleep, and for the second time in my life I swear I heard him say '_I think I love you, Molly Hooper.' _But, I suppose that I was dreaming, for my dreams took their normal course, though at a much stronger visualization having known the real thing.

**Hey dolls! Please review on how you think the story is so far, and this chapter itself. **

**The story will pick up again soon, I promise!**

**Again, review!**

**-TDM**

**The "My Dearest Sherlock" Soundtrack  
**

**1. Trade Mistakes- Panic! At the Disco**

**2. Always- Panic! At the Disco**

**3. Lost In You- Three Days Grace**

**4. Memories- Panic! At the Disco**

**5. When The Day Met The Night- Panic! At the Disco**

**6. Nearly Witches (Ever Since We Met) -P!ATD {Mainly chorus}**

**7. The (Shipped) Gold Standard- Fall Out Boy**

**8. Six Feet Under The Stars- All Time Low**

**9. Stall Me- P!ATD**

*****These songs are songs that have inspired me in my writing, so if you ever want to see more of how I think Sherlock and Molly's relationship will go, you _may_ find a clue within one (or more) of the songs... "Spoilers!" (Must add River!)**

**Love you all!**


	15. Speaking Terms

How to describe the events of the past few weeks would be impossible even for the most brilliant of minds.

How could I describe it?

Sherlock and I became healthy again with the assistance of a very special medical doctor and morgue technician.

'Molly, I want you to eat peanut butter. I know you hate it, but you need to gain the weight back. You should have never lost as much weight as you did. You're skin and bone.' Mary treated me like her daughter, and mildly scolded me when I acted daft, as I apparently was doing now.

'I'm fine, Mary. I can just eat eggs or something.' She gave me the look. Can I describe the look? Imagine your mother. That's the look.

'Are you still hung up on Sherlock's health? He's gained back most of his weight, and you've stayed the same. He's fine now, so take some time to get yourself healthy. It's not right to let yourself go. Imagine how worried poor Sherlock is about you.'

'Worried? He's…' I stopped. 'He's not spoken a word to me in three and a half weeks. One day he's the man I always imagined him to be, and now every time he sees me he walks the other direction…literally, walks the other way! I text him, he doesn't respond. I'm going insane, Mary. I just…I don't know.

'What do you mean the man you imagined him to be?'

'I…what do you mean, what do you mean? Does it matter what I meant?' I'm sure that I was ten shades of red.

'Oh my god. Did you _sleep_ with _Sherlock Holmes!_' She sounded like a little school girl as she giggled and covered her mouth shyly.

Could I die of embarrassment?

'Oh my god! You _did!_ Tell me, how was it? No, no! Let me guess, he's amazing in bed isn't he? Is really bi-'

'Mary, shut up!' I clamped my hand over her mouth, attempting to stop her frightening words. 'I can't believe that those words are coming out of your mouth!'

Suddenly, as Mary was convulsing with laughter John came storming out of Sherlock's room, half giddy and seemingly frightened.

'Molly!' He whispered loudly. 'You slept with Sherlock?' He looked at Mary and together their laughter rang through the whole flat.

'What did he tell you?'

'He told me not to say.'

'John, please tell me.'

I saw Mary give his hand a bit of a tug, and I knew she was on my side.

'Fine. All he said was that he was losing his own game. Knowing Sherlock, there are no games, big or small, that Sherlock will lose. None.'

'What game? I'm not playing any games with him!'

'Everything is a game. For him, the thrill is in the chase…he's not thrilled anymore, so I put two and two together and guessed that the chase was complete.'

'John!' Luckily, this didn't come from me. Mary looked furious. 'You don't say that!'

'Mary, she asked me to tell her!'

'Be delicate. Please, try and be delicate.' She was so gentle with him.

'John, just give it to me straight. Was I just a game to him?'

'Molly, I wish I knew. I wish that, for your sake, he could just let go of everything and…love like a normal man. But he can't…he won't. Mycroft told me once something that Sherlock said. He said that Sherlock said, and I quote, "sentiment is a chemical defect found in the losing side." Molly, that's the true Sherlock. That's who he is, that's how he feels.'

'I know. I know he thinks that way. You make it sound as if…as if I was _in love_ with him.' I laughed, trying to be nonchalant while inside it felt like my heart was being ripped out of my chest.

'Aren't you?' John said questioningly.

I heard Mary lean in and whisper the word 'delicate' into his ear.

'Why would I put myself out there for someone who is unwilling to do the same?'

'If someone is unwilling to take the first step, then how do you expect it to begin?' Mary piped in.

'I've taken step after step and when he responded I thought it was perfect…then he just stopped speaking to me. He stopped sleeping in my room. He stopped…caring.'

'Molly,' Mary and John said in unison. But they never gave me the next piece of advice. Sherlock strode out of his room, looking as cool as could be. He stood across from us, and had a gleam of anger in his eyes.

'So, what? Is this a gossiping session? I didn't know were running one. I would say I thought higher of you, but in all honesty it's not beneath you all to fall to the shortcomings of the commonwealth.' He spat out his words, never looking at me.

The sound of skin to skin contact is what first grabbed my attention. Secondly was John screaming Mary's name.

'How rude could you be, Sherlock!' Mary yelled at him.

Sherlock looked stunned and was still holding his face in his hand.

'Do you not realize that you are treating possibly the only woman that will ever love you like trash? Why don't you realize how wrong that is? Why can't you stop being such a…such a prick!'

'Okay, that's enough. Time to go.' John grabbed Mary and walked out. Great, now I was left to deal with this.

'Sherlock, I am so sorry.'

He looked at me with pity and walked away, not breaking his streak of silence.

'Why won't you speak to me!' I screamed.

'Remember what I said a while ago? What I said about _you?_' My heart dropped and remembered the incident before his visit to the hospital. 'That's why. Think about it, Molly. It's quite disgusting, isn't it?'

'Why are you so childish at times?'

'Childish? Is that coming from Molly-talks-a-lot who gossips with Johnny boy and little Miss Mary?'

'Yes, and it's being told to the man who plays me like a game of chess and then refuses to speak to me in a three week long tantrum!'

'Don't be a fool, Molly. You weren't a game of chess. You were much, much simpler.'

It was a game.

A cruel game and I had lost.

Checkmate.

No, no. He said it wasn't chess.

How about do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars.

'Leave.' The word came out, and for the first time, I didn't regret saying something like that to him.

'What?' He looked at me oddly, seemingly confused.

'I said leave. Get out.' The tears came, but I hardly noticed them.

'Fine.'

I stood and watched as the man I loved walked out the door, and, I feared, my life.

**Sorry boys, I know you thought this was going to be lighthearted...**

**but I am sooooooooooo changeable!**

**Remember to review! **

**Love you, duckies!**

**-TDM**


	16. Requited

'Molly, how are you?' Mary and I had been working in silence for nearly an hour.

'I don't want to talk about it.' The last thing I needed plaguing me was my irrational decision to tell him to leave.

'You always want to talk about him, though.'

'Not now.'

'You know he's staying at the flat, right?'

'Good. He should be at Baker Street. That's where he belongs.'

'I don't think so. John and I live there now…I'm sorry but Sherlock seems…awkward…'

'Have you met him? He's never _not _awkward.'

'Just try and speak with him. He's really bad Molly. John says he's only seen him this way once before and apparently this is worse.'

'If you don't want him there then tell him to come back.' I didn't want to do it, and I hoped Mary would go for it.

'No, oh no! He is _your_ problem. Besides…' She trailed off and got a far off look in her eye.

'Besides what?'

'I shouldn't say.' She smiled coyly, and I knew she wanted me to probe her about it.

'Please tell me?' I said, hoping I didn't sound halfhearted. Regardless, she answered happily.

'There…there's going to be a baby.' She looked at me, all smiles, and tears starting to run down her face.

'Oh my god! You're pregnant!' I was beyond happy for her. 'Congratulations! When'd you find out? How did John react? Tell me!' I was genuinely happy for her, and it was a lucky distraction for my brain.

'I found out last week when I took a test, but I wanted to make sure so I waited and yesterday my doctor confirmed it. I am having a baby!' Her hand went to her flat stomach. 'John doesn't know yet. I was going to tell him tonight at dinner. I'm making lasagna…it's his favorite.'

'I'm guessing this is where I come in?' I said, knowing what was coming next.

'Just get Sherlock out of the house, even if it's only for a few hours. Please?' She looked at me, her big eyes pleading, and I couldn't say no.

'Fine. I'll try my best, but if he doesn't come that's his fault not mine.'

Mary and I spent the rest of the day talking about families, baby names, and how she planned on surprising John. When it finally came time to go home, I was all nerves about seeing Sherlock.

I arrived at my flat around eight, and was ready to leave for my pretend date by nine. I was dressed in a pair of basic jeans and a nice shirt. I grabbed my wallet and headed for Mary's.

I buzzed her building and was let in.

'Hey Mary!' I shouted, not seeing anyone. 'I'm here…where are you?'

'Mary and John aren't here. John took her out for some sort of dinner.' He was at the table, focusing a slide on the microscope. 'Now please, hush.'

'Sherlock, I-'

'Shh!'

'But,'

'Shh!'

I couldn't believe him! He would never change!

And for some odd reason that gave me the butterflies.

It's like that thought alone made me remember the man who, for the past two weeks, had been away from me…away from home…and god, I missed him.

I followed a trail of science equipment into a bedroom that I assumed to be his by the large collection of objects that had once made their home in my flat. Most of the items were still in boxes. I walked over to the first box and glanced inside. His books about science, the name HAWKING printed in bold along the binding. In the next were his few articles of clothing, folded neatly. As I walked away though, something shiny caught my eye. I went back and picked out the small glimmer within the linens.

The little bracelet chimed as I picked it up, and I ran each familiar charm through my fingers, focusing on the magnifying glass. I kissed it and laid it back within his items. I then folded the lid of the box up, and did so with the others, eventually having most of his things packed.

'God, Molly!' Sherlock's voice cried from across the room. 'What are you doing?'

'Please come back. I'm so sorry. I overreacted just please, please come back.'

'Why?' He suddenly seemed defensive, as if he was bracing for something.

'I miss you. I miss you, Sherlock.'

'And I miss Baker Street.' He said like an argumentative two year old. What do I say to that?

'I don't know what you need me to say, Sherlock.'

'Yet I know exactly what you think I should say, Molly. You think I should just drop everything and come back to your flat so you're not lonely.'

'But aren't you lonely?'

'Why would I be lonely?'

'Why else would you come back to John instead of getting your own place?'

He didn't make any move to respond.

'I'm sorry I came.' I suddenly felt like an idiot. I shouldn't have come here. This is _Sherlock._ Not an ex-boyfriend.

'Actually, Molly…'

'I said I'm sorry, Sherlock.' My embarrassment made me almost run out of the flat and into the cool December night, forgetting my coat.

I ran back to my flat without feeling the cold, and it was only when I arrived did I realize that the heaving and the convulsions were making me nauseous.

I slipped out of my clothes and got into a warm shower that felt like millions of little needles stinging me all over. I was shaking and my ribs hurt from the uncharacteristic run. I sat down as the shower ran over me, just letting the water splash against me, never feeling it, just acknowledging it.

I thought about how Mary was so lucky. John was one of the nicest men I knew, and he and Mary deserved each other.

But to me, it wasn't fair that she found happiness so easily.

Then I did the mental comparison of her and me in my head. She was petite, even much shorter than John. She had long blonde hair and a small frame which she accented with light dresses or small jumpers. She was brilliant and calm and loveable.

I on the other hand was not so…attractive. I was awkward and that translated through my face and features. I was taller than a lot of girls, and socially oblivious. I didn't have curves, but I also wasn't skinny. I was frantic and unlovable.

By the time my analysis was done the water that I was using was ice cold—not helping with my previous temperature or lack thereof. I pulled myself out of the shower and wrapped up in my winter dressing gown. I braided my hair and pulled on slippers before I slipped out of my bedroom door to put on a kettle of warm tea.

It was cooler in my flat than usual. I checked the thermostat and it read eighty, but felt sixty. I didn't put two and two together until I stubbed my toe on a box in the floor titled 'Science Books'.

There was a note on the top, and I picked it up, but once I read it placed it in the pocket of my gown. I didn't understand what was meant by it, but for some reason I was interested.

Three little letters.

I.O.U.

**Hey! Please review what you think so far! :) I truly enjoy reading your thoughts and comments! :)**

**Review!**

**-TDM**


	17. Giving In

**Long time no see, duckies!**_  
_

**I've missed you!**

**I hope to be updating again on Saturday (I'm seeing the Avengers tomorrow, sorry!) xD**

_Sherlock, where are you?_

_-MH_

_Baker Street. You left your coat here. _

_-SH_

_What do you mean you're at Baker Street? Your stuff is right here._

_-MH_

_What stuff? I've not left anything over there. _

_-SH_

_A box. It says Sherlock's Science Books. It looks like you just came in and left it lying in the middle of the kitchen. I stubbed my toe on it._

_-MH_

He never replied back to that message, though he didn't need to, seeming as he was at my flat in record speed. He waltzed in, not knocking, not speaking to me in the slightest. I watched as he observed the box, smelled it, picked it up, turned it this way and that, and ran off through the rest of the flat.

'Was this it?'

'What?' I shook myself out of my stupor.

'The box…is it the only one?' He asked, seemingly losing interest.

'Yes. But there was something else…it's not that important.'

'Then don't mention it.' He responded coldly.

'Fine.' He looked away, half rolling his eyes. What children we acted like at times…

I couldn't help but to laugh.

'What?'

'Nothing.'

'Clearly it's something or you wouldn't find it so hysterical.'

'Debatable.'

'Fine then, let's debate it.' He sat down on the couch and looked at me. 'What's funny?'

'Your childish behavior.' I answered, smiling.

He looked oddly offended. 'My childish behavior? You kicked me out of our flat because you were having a…a…moment!'

'You're a constant moment!' Wait…

Backtrack about thirty seconds…

'Sherlock…did you say _our_ flat?'

'No. Why would I say that?'

'You just did. It came out of your mouth.'

'Molly, I am clearly the more intelligent of us two, so let's take my word for gospel when I say that I _didn't_ say _our _flat.'

'I think you're wrong. I _know_ that you said our flat.'

'If you know so much then why do you have to state it?'

'Why do you?'

'I'm a show off. That's what show offs do.' He ran his hand through his hair dramatically.

'You're not a show off! That's the biggest load of crap I've ever heard!'

'Why would you say that?'

'If you were a show off then tell me why you only chose interesting cases instead of all the high profile cases? A true show off would want to get his name around.'

'My name was around!' He stated as if it'd been the key.

'Not by choice.'

'Maybe it was.'

'No, it wasn't.'

He sighed and closed his eyes.

'Molly, what was the other thing dealing with the box?'

'It's just a note.'

'Let me see it.' I reached into my pocket and drew it out, smoothing it out while doing so. He snatched it up from me and read it.

I've never seen a more frightening expression from him before in my life.

Pardon the cliché, but he looked as if he'd seen a ghost. Not only that, but a ghost that the mighty Sherlock couldn't rationalize.

'What is it?' I asked almost in a whisper.

He jumped up and closed ever curtain and covered anything exposing the outside world. He looked over me once, twice, three times, front and back.

'What is it?'

He was mumbling to himself, his mouth moved at light speed and his thoughts probably faster. I tried to make out what he was saying, and now what he was doing. He made his hand to look like a gun and reenacted what looked to be a suicide. He did this again, and again, and again. He was spinning in circles, mumbling, committing pretend suicide, and looking off into a place I couldn't see.

It was too much. I closed my eyes and began to draw my own conclusions. He was reenacting a suicide. A suicide that frightened him? No, it was the fact that this person was still alive that was frightening him? Maybe they're supposed to be dead but aren't…My thoughts continued this was until it hit me. Jim. Jim from IT—he'd shot himself on the same day Sherlock supposedly died. Was it Jim? Was Jim Moriarty back?

'Molly?' I opened my eyes and I could almost picture myself on the roof of St. Bart's.

'Sherlock was there, he was donning his famous coat and scarf, shaking hands with the consulting criminal (at least that's what Sherlock called him). Then it came out of nowhere. Sherlock jumped back, and Jim put the gun in his mouth and fired.

But I noticed something…his elbow…his elbow seeming to almost cushion the fall. And there was a lot of blood, but not the right color…that blood looked like donor blood.

'Molly!' Suddenly the fantastic image was stripped away and I was back in my flat, Sherlock shaking my shoulders.

'What? What happened? What…what on earth are you doing?' I freed myself from his vices and took a much needed seat.

'Why were you there?'

'Where? Huh?'

'What sort of trick was that?' He was accusing me of something?

'I have no idea what you're going on about, Sherlock.'

'Good.' He backed away from me awkwardly and patted me on the arm like you might do to a family member you didn't like.

'Is Jim Moriarty alive?' I blurted out.

'You did the autopsy…you tell me.'

'We didn't do an autopsy on Jim.' I stated much to Sherlock's surprise. 'He had a family member come in and say they didn't want one, and that suicide was a reasonable explanation for his sudden death.

'You sure know how to ruin something, Molly.'

'I beg your pardon!' His wit was getting rather old.

'He faked it, don't you see? He faked it like I did!'

'Sherlock, jumping off a roof and shooting one's self with a gun are two different things. How would he have been able to do that?' I questioned.

'I…I was figuring that out but I got distracted.'

'What? Was there a beautiful girl in your mind palace?' I said jokingly, hoping to lighten the mood.

He didn't answer me, which I knew meant yes. He could have screamed the word yes and I would have believed him less than if he were silent. 'Who is she?'

'Be quiet, Molly.' He pulled the box towards him and opened it, and as a precaution recommended I leave the room.

'I'll be fine.'

He slid open the first corner, and then next three in a slow, likewise fashion. The inside was covered in newspapers about 'The Suicide of the Fake Genius' and other clippings of 'Suicide, Possible Murder of False Villain".

He ripped through the papers, searching for something more.

'Just papers. Why just papers? This doesn't make any sense.'

'He's showing off. He's just sending you those to prove that he won.'

'He didn't win. I won.'

'What does IOU mean?'

'Exactly what it says! Just when I believe you're getting intelligent you go asking stupid questions.'

'I know what it means, Sherlock, but what does it mean to _you?'_

'It means nothing to me.' He yanked out his phone and began texting.

'John and Mary will bring your coat over when they come.' He looked at me as if I should be doing something.

'Well?' He prodded.

'Well, goodbye!' I opened the front door for him to take his leave.

'Goodbye? I'm not leaving when finally something interesting is happening!'

'What if I don't want you here?' I asked, wondering why he thought he could hurt me and walk right back in now that something interesting was happening.

'Do you want me gone?' He asked as if the idea had never occurred to him…he was unable to process someone not wanting or needing him around.

'No.'

'Good.'

We both stood around awkwardly for a moment before I found something that 'needed' to be done.

The knock on the door to my flat came about an hour later.

'Are you reconciling in there?' I heard through the buzzer. Oh, Mary. I heard John laugh, and I buzzed them in.

'Mary, John! How'd your date go? I thought you were cooking?' I inquired, wondering why she put me in that awkward situation.

'Well, I just figured that you and Sherlock needed some…alone time.' She put it delicately…

'Molly, you know how he is. I don't have an issue with it…'

'_We_ don't have an issue with it.' Mary corrected. 'It's just…with the thing…'

I smiled, but it faded into somewhat horror for Mary.

'What thing?' He asked innocently.

'It's a secret, dear.' He looked confused and unhappy about not knowing, but didn't press it further.

'Where's Sherlock?' His phone rang and he said never mind as he walked past us into Sherlock's old…eh…new room.

Suddenly, a noise caught the attention of me and my friend.

A sensual moan coming from the mysterious box from earlier.

Mary and I shared a look as two grown men casually walked in and grabbed the box and walked away with it.

'Oh, no John. Not on my watch!' She grabbed John's hand and led him away, much to the dismay of his friend.

'It's just a text!' Sherlock shouted as she shut the front door. He followed this by a string of colorful comments describing his thoughts about Mary at the moment. He pouted and locked himself inside of the room (even though nothing was in there) and left me with more than a few questions.

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	18. About A Girl

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The first text I received made me think that someone had punched in the wrong number.

_You're not the first, you know._

There was no signature, and every time I tried to reply it gave me an error message.

Maybe their phone got shut off.

I began to believe this until I was sent the newer messages.

_Tell Sherlock that I've won. _

Then it was _Molly, you truly look to be in pitiful shape. Sherlock should watch out for you more._

The most recent one was _It isn't very classy to stare, Molly. Sherlock doesn't want you, so stop being so pitiful. _

I typed back responses for each message, but only in vain.

Was this even possible? Why couldn't I reply?

I was sitting on my bed cuddling with my cat when I heard the buzzer ring. I hopped up to answer it, knowing Sherlock was out with Lestrade, finally getting back into what he loved the most, only anonymously now.

When I opened the door I discovered a small cardboard box with my name printed on it in black sharpie. Next to it was a card. I picked them both up and investigated them curiously. I opened the card first, which read:

Roses are red,

Violets are blue,

The game is still on,

I've figured it out, have you?

There was no return address and no one had signed to the card. I next broke into the cardboard box. Inside was a small, expensive bottle of perfume. The tag around it said _For Molly- SH_. Sherlock? I wanted to doubt that he'd sent it, but he had odd little moments of kindness where he seemed to go above and beyond. (Given, nothing of the sort had happened in a very, very long time.)

I tested out the spray, and discovered I liked the smell. It seemed to me that I felt a little happier after spraying it. Maybe it was because it was from Sherlock, I don't know, but I felt wonderful for some reason.

I danced around my flat because I could—unashamed because there wasn't an overly cynical sociopath harboring every ill-will against me for some reason. I turned on the music as loud as it could go and blocked out every care. Who was going to see me? My kitty?

The only thing that distracted me was the experiments that had bled from his room to the rest of the flat. I was stepping over books and microscopes and petri dishes and tablets of his notes and text books. I saw the evidence of Sherlock, but not the man himself.

In fact, in the past month, I had hardly seen him. It was worse than when he'd originally moved in the first time. I sometimes wondered if he came back at night or if he stayed gone most of the time. Ha. Why should I care?

In my mind I tried to seem like I didn't care…

But in all reality, it hurt like hell.

I was suddenly out of my happy stupor, sobered by my hurt. I turned off the music and picked up one of Sherlock's notebooks. His handwriting wasn't as elegant as I thought it would have been. He clearly hurried through his notes, not caring if they were legible for others. In fact, as I studied them now, it seemed to me that only Sherlock would understand what he'd written.

A rap on the door made me jump out of my skin. I hurriedly put back the tablet and threw the perfume, card, and box haphazardly into my room before running to the door.

Standing there was a crazed looking Sherlock.

'Sherlock…are you alright?' He stammered in, half clutching to me for support. 'You smell like a pub!'

'What do you mean I smell like a pup? I'm not a dog, John.'

'I'm not John, and I said pub.'

'John.'

'Oh my god…you are beyond wasted.' I led him to the living room couch and made him lie there, hoping he would damage any of his experiments.

'I'm not drunk, Molly. Why would I drink?' The slur in his words dissolved any credibility he may have had.

'I don't know why you would, but you're drunk.' I pulled out my phone, ignoring a message from my anonymous texter. I clicked a few buttons, thankful John was on my speed dial. Luckily he picked up on the first ring.

'Hello?'

'John, I need you. Sherlock's drunk.'

'He's what?'

'Drunk…he's wasted…not sober…'

'Sherlock doesn't drink.'

I sighed. 'Well, something happened, because he smells like alcohol and is acting like a frat boy.' I yelled at him to not stand on the couch, and he answered me mockingly.

'I'm on my way.' I heard the click from the other end and went over to try and subdue Sherlock again.

'Sherlock, if you're not drunk then why are you acting like you are?'

He, instead of answering me, picked up his violin and began playing a fast-beat song.

So I did what I do best.

I pulled out my camera phone and recorded everything he did until John arrived.

Sherlock ran to answer the door for his friend, and shouted when he did so.

'Molly! So good to see you! John has been recording me on his phone playing the violin…and Irene! Hello!' He kissed Mary on both cheeks before laughing and stumbling towards the couch, where he promptly passed out.

'What the hell was that?' were the first words out of John's mouth.

Before an answer could be given, a sleepy Sherlock roared, 'get out, this is mine!' before dozing off again. John studied his friend for a second before checking Sherlock's pockets. Inside was a small stick with a liquid oozing off the tip, which John threw in the trash and sighed.

'He'll be like this for a while. Will you help me get him into bed?' I took one arm and John took the other, His feet dragging behind him.

'Where are we going, John?' He looked up at me and asked.

'Bed. You're going to bed.' He seemed puzzled.

'But it isn't bedtime yet.' He nodded off again, making it more difficult to drag him the few remaining feet into his bed. When we finally made it, John lifted him halfway and flopped him down.

'John, how do you know how long he'll be this way?'

'He's been drugged with this before…it's not harmful, just makes you loopy. It's some sort of hallucinogenic drug.'

'Molly, get out! Why are you here? I didn't _invite you!_ Why…why would I do that?' Sherlock stammered in his drugged sleep.

'I wonder what he's dreaming about.' Mary said, standing in the doorway. John and I exited the room and shut the door. I pulled out my phone to check the time, only to discover three new text messages.

_I wouldn't dance like that if I were you._

_Isn't Sherlock so fun when he isn't being a dick?_

The last one was from Mary. She must have sent it when she and John left.

_I told John that I was pregnant…we can talk about it now._

I should have been pleased that the news was out, but I was truly frightened by the fact that someone could see me in my own flat. I drew the blinds, questioning eyes boring into my back.

'Someone is watching me.'

'Molly, no one is watching you.' John and Mary looked at me as if I were drugged. I threw John my phone and told him to go through my messages. He took out his own phone and dialed the number, sending his own text.

'I've already tried that. It won't send it.' As if to prove my point, John received an error message.

Then his phone buzzed.

_Here's a hint, my dear Watson. _He showed me the message, and the doorbell rang. He ran to it, and found a note. His whole demeanor seemed to change. He looked at me and then at Mary before shoving the note in his pocket and returning to his seat.

'What was it?' I asked with Mary's probing.

'It's nothing. Nothing important.' My phone buzzed again.

_Has Sherlock ever told you about Irene? _I thought long and hard, only remembering earlier when he called Mary that name...maybe I'd heard it once somewhere else…

_No? Ask him…after all she is thee woman._

_What else don't you know if you don't even know the little things?_

_What could he be hiding?_

I shut my phone and stormed in my room, not wanting to bother Mary or John with my fragile emotional state.

The next text message:

_Look her up. Irene Adler. That's who Sherlock mourned. _ I turned on my laptop and punched her name into the search engine.

I hit enter and the first thing that popped up was Irene Adler, Dominatrix.

I shut the lid to my laptop.

I was foolish for thinking I was something special to him.

Foolish.

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	19. Two Weeks

I had moved myself from my bedroom to Sherlock's once John and Mary had taken their leave, which was soon after I hid. He was twitching in his sleep, and mumbling on about things that only he knew.

It was roughly three, but John had advised me to watch him to make sure he didn't vomit. Yeah, what an endearing job. With my luck, or lack thereof, he had gotten sick three times already, and during these brief moments of semi-awareness told me to go away. I refused, and before he could argue he would pass out.

Sherlock's phone had been going off for about two hours.

Moan.

Moan.

Ring.

Moan.

Ring.

Moan.

Moan.

Ring.

The next was a moan, and I was fed up with hearing it. My secret texter had informed me that this text alert was from Sherlock's ex-lover…it didn't sound very 'ex' to me.

Initially, I was just going to turn the volume of his phone off…

Initially.

Then I saw the messages and couldn't resist.

_Dinner, Mr. Holmes?_

Was she asking him out on a date? I searched the sent messages and found his response.

_I'm not hungry._

_-SH_

So could he not flirt? Maybe he wasn't interested after all…

Then another 'moan' text came in.

_Sherlock, I miss you. Let's have dinner. This can make up for those times when you wouldn't have dinner with me before._

So he'd turned her down before? Didn't sound like he was too interested…

I looked at some of the other messages and came across one with the same number as my anonymous texter. He had no name for him, only a JM. JM?

_You're boring me, Sherlock. Why don't you do something interesting…flirt with your roommate…spice things up! I can guarantee you she wants it. _

I turned off the phone and tried to hide my face.

'What are you doing to me! Stop! Please…stop…no…never…mind…'

I was scared to death, thinking that he'd caught me with his phone, but as he rambled on I knew I was safe for the time being. My curiosity peaked as my adrenaline mellowed about what he was dreaming or thinking about. Was he being killed or something?

I studied his face, looking for signs of distressing dreams, but got lost in the grand scheme of his features. Even closed, his eyes and eyebrows were so expressive, telling me that he was relaxed after his outburst. His cheekbones were as high and prominent as ever, and they had a light pink blush added to them. I moved down to his lips, which were full and detailed. Right now it was fluctuating between a smirk and disappointment.

'Molly?' He opened his eyes, and looked right at me with glossy eyes.

'Sherlock? Are you alright? Do you need anything?' He was visibly trying to focus on me, but failed to and resorted to closing his eyes to sleep once more. I patted his hand, and on the third pat his hand caught mine and held it lightly. I didn't squeeze my hand to reciprocate, the fear of waking him up and ruining the moment too great for me to risk. I pulled my feet up in my chair and laid my head on my knees, watching him sleep until the fatigue got the best of me.

When I awoke I was startled to hear the Bee Gee's blasting from my living room. Staying Alive? Gosh, is this the crap Sherlock likes?

Wait…Sherlock.

My eyes darted to the bed and found a half-alive version of him trying to crawl off the bed. He rolled off in a less than graceful fashion and I ran to the other side of the bed to help him.

'Molly! Hide!' He said—sleepiness and drugs polluting his normally articulate speech. 'He's in the house!'

'Who's in the house?'

'Moriarty…he's here…the song!' He tried to run towards the door, but apparently his face had a meeting with the floor.

'It's just my stereo acting up…Jim is dead…he killed himself, remember?'

'He's been…the song!' He stuttered, once again making a mad dash for the door. I ran to steady him, and he leaned into me drastically for support.

I opened his bedroom door to prove to him that Jim wasn't in the flat.

'See? No Jim is here.' I walked him to the sofa where I placed him. He jumped and looked behind, under and beside the couch before calming down…and then he'd find a new place to inspect, and did so to the area around him that he could reach without removing himself from the couch. Meanwhile, I went and turned off the stereo.

I opened the CD case to inspect the cause of the song and found a yellow CD that read 'My Dearest Sherlock'.

'Sherlock, it says it's for you.' I turned around and he was passed out in the fetal position, his length still taking up most of the couch. I put the CD down and covered him with a blanket, not sure how much longer he'd sleep.

It was 5:47…I'd only slept for half an hour? Darn. I didn't even feel tired. I went and took a quick shower, hoping that it would relax me enough for sleep to set in. Nope, didn't work.

I walked around my room in my dressing gown and slippers, painted my nails, and texted Mary that I'd be in for work all before six.

At 6:05 Mary texted me back saying she'd send John over to watch after Sherlock for the day.

_Thanks Mary. So, how are you feeling?_

_-MH_

_No problem! I'm feeling very sick. Yuck. Maybe it's not too late to get a refund on this pregnancy…surrogates are so underrated. _

_-MarMor_

I laughed at her text, as I normally do. She was one of those people that I couldn't tell if she was genius or down-right insane. Normally she rode the line between the two, and I could tell that today was going to be a crazy one.

_Mary, you make me laugh so much! You know that it's so worth it! _

_-MH_

_I know! Can you imagine? A little baby that looks like John! It's going to be the cutest thing since...ever!_

_-MarMor_

_I know. I'm so happy for you guys!_

_-MH_

_Thanks, Mol. I can't stop smiling even though I'm becoming very good friends with Mr. Toilet Bowl. _

Mary I continued texting until I got to work. When I arrived I had a young female to evaluate and later on an older gentleman. At nine in the morning I began my procedures on the girl, named Kate, who had suffered from a traumatic blow to the side of her head. The cause of death though was evident by the deep purple hand marks on her neck and around her mouth.

Poor girl. She was so young and pretty—she could have had a great life. I finished my paperwork detailing the injuries and I covered her up with the white sheet for her to be identified by a family member…apparently they received her name from her ID. I washed everything up and went to the break room to sit and wait for my next 'client'.

Before I had time to check for new messages my phone went off.

_It's so sad about poor Kate._

_But she had to die._

_Tragic, really. _

_Don't forget to check under her tongue. _

The four texts came consecutively, and by the last one I was running towards the morgue, hoping to be there before her family claimed her.

I ran up the steps, each one seeming like three, taking me what seemed to be a million years to reach.

I saw her still-covered body and ripped on a pair of gloves before prying her mouth open and lifting her tongue.

There laid a small, soggy, wrinkled piece of paper.

The writing on it was small, and hardly readable, but after a moment of deciphering I found what it said.

Two weeks.

I shoved it in my pocket and covered young Kate up again.

Two weeks.

It seemed like a lifetime away.

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	20. Noodles and Exposition

When I opened the door to the flat the first thing I noticed was John sitting on the couch with Mary, looking through a book about babies.

'Molly!' Mary greeted me. 'Sherlock's still out. Strong stuff they must've given him. But he's calling out for you.' I gave her a hug.

'Thank you for watching out for him.' I gave John a hug as well.

'Anytime. I've dealt with him like this before, you know.' John said.

They gathered their things and left, and I felt so alone. I felt like it was just me there that Sherlock wasn't in the other room. In fact, I'd felt like that for the last few months. Sherlock wouldn't come near me, wouldn't speak with me. I missed him. I missed him so much.

I poured myself a cup of tea before heading into his room to check on him.

He was lying on his stomach, only his butt was covered with the sheet he was using, exposing the rest of him. Apparently they'd let him shower—he smelled like aftershave and his dark curls were still damp. I sat beside him on the bed and ran my fingers through his hair, brushing it out of his face. His mouth twitched in his sleep and he grumbled about something. I traced down his neck and to his shoulder where his scar was. It was now a white color that stuck out slightly more than the rest of his skin. I traced down his back, sighing as I did so.

Why couldn't this be who we were?

Sherlock and Molly. What's so complex about that?

Why couldn't I just sit here doing this, and why couldn't he be the man I wanted him to be?

Why did I fall in love with him?

Why didn't he fall in love with me?

He stirred again and I withdrew my hand.

'Molly?' He blinked a few times before focusing on me. 'Why are you in my room?'

I faltered. 'I was just, uh, checking on you.' I stood up and awkwardly walked towards the door.

'I don't need a babysitter.'

'I know. I was just worried about you. That's all.'

'Why?' I looked back and he had wrapped himself in the sheet, drinking the tea I'd left on his bedside table.

'I…I don't know. I just do.'

'Are you in love with me, Molly?' He asked as if it were just causally conversation.

I couldn't speak because I knew that no matter what I said I was going to be hurt.

'Well?' He probed.

'What would you like for dinner? I could order out but I know you really don't like the Chinese place. Maybe I could call in some pasta.' I smiled, glad that I so obviously changed the subject.

His eyebrows furrowed and he cocked his head to the side like a confused puppy. I took this opportunity to leave, and call in food from an Italian restaurant down the road, and grab a shower before it arrived. I did my work routine shower, made sure I didn't smell like the dead, and put on my dressing gown all before the pasta arrived.

When the doorbell rang I was ready with money.

'Hello.' The beautiful woman said who was at the other side of my door.

'Uh, hello. Can I help you?' I asked, thinking she may have gotten the wrong flat number.

'I suppose, but I think it's more that your flat mate can help me.' She walked in and I noticed she was dressed in designer clothing, he hair pinned up the way a pin-up girl's would be.

And then I remembered.

Irene Adler, Dominatrix.

I had stared at her website for hours trying to imagine why Sherlock would like a slut over me.

'Irene, isn't it?' She gave me an inquisitive look.

'Yes, although I go by an alias now. I'm sorry, but is Sherlock here? The matter is rather urgent.' She took a seat on the couch and looked expectant.

'Yes, I'll go get him for you.' I walked over to his door, and entered without knocking.'

'Sherlock.'

He jumped a bit. He was only in a pair of jeans; his shirt of choice was lying across his bed.

'Did you forget how to knock?' His voice said more calmly than his body appeared. He slipped his hand in his pocket and stared at me.

'There's a girl here for you.' I was hoping my voice didn't portray my jealousy.

'For me? Must be a client.' He shrugged. 'That's hardly news, Molly.'

'Her name is Irene. Irene Adler. She says it's urgent.' The way his face contorted at her name immediately gave me the proof I needed. I wasn't sure who my 'texter' was, but he apparently knew his facts. She and Sherlock _had_ been together. He quickly threw his shirt on and stormed out.

'Sherlock! What a lovely surprise.'

'I thought I was clear when I told you to stay away from Europe. London especially.' He sat across from her.

'I thought I'd just give you some advice, Mr. Holmes.' She leaned in. 'Jim Moriarty has a message for you.' The look on his face was a mixture of disbelief and shock.

'You're still working with Moriarty?'

'Well, after I heard that he was murdered by the fake genius I had to see what really happened. That's beside the point. I'm returning a favor Mister Holmes, a life saved for a life saved. Jim is after someone you love. I assumed it was John, but it seems to be someone else, so I came to give you the message myself: be careful. He's got their place bugged, and he plans on acting soon.'

'How can I trust you if you're working for him?'

'Because I want to have dinner with you.'

'Sorry, I am booked tonight.'

'Do you have a date?' I was astonished. She was flirting with Sherlock. And he was refusing her.

'In fact, I do.' Now the both of us were staring at him.

'Who?' we asked in unison. Irene looked back at me as if I were someone to be laughed at. I cringed. I knew I wasn't beautiful, and she wasn't helping me.

Sherlock looked up at me. 'I'm having pasta with Molly tonight.' I blushed. A date? Oh dear, I was in my dressing gown!

Irene laughed. 'Maybe another time. But take me seriously: Jim is out to get you via your loved ones. I'm just trying to help.'

'Yet you're working for him. I am not convinced that you're not spying on me.' Sherlock responded.

'Proof? He had Kate killed. She was murdered last night.' Irene looked as if she was fighting back tears. 'You've seen me beg before, Sherlock. Don't make me do it again. Just please be careful.'

'Okay.' was all he said. Irene showed herself out, and a few minutes later dinner came.

'Sherlock—someone is watching us.' He looked at me as if I were speaking another language. 'They've been texting me, telling me about things that they shouldn't know.'

'Let me see your phone.' I gave it to him and he looked over the messages. A few of them made him react, but for the most part he remained stoic. He got up and went to his room without a word, but arrived back with his own phone. He began comparing messages, and well, whatever else it was that he was doing. 'Molly, why'd you go through my phone?'

'I didn't.' The lie spewed out before I had time to even think.

'You did.' He dropped the subject.

'So, something weird happened at work today.'

'Stop trying to be domestic, Molly.'

'No it's not…I'm not…'

'What is it?' he said with a sigh, placing the phones aside.

'There was a note in the mouth of one of my…patients…'

He sat up, more interested than before.

'It said two weeks.'

Sherlock stared off and thought for a while. When he finally came too he smiled. 'Two weeks. I wonder why he's waiting so long.' He left the room without finishing his dinner and locked himself up in his room again.

What a date.

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**-TDM**


	21. Déjà Vu

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**I hope they keep coming! **

**Love you all!**

I watched him walk away and closed up the remaining food. Had this been a date? I pondered the possibilities as I stuffed the leftovers into crevices in the fridge behind a bowl containing a human ear. What did he mean by waiting so long? I was beyond confused and stressed. I felt like I needed to be locked up in a mental institution.

Padded walls, barred windows, no visitors…

It sounded strangely serene.

What was serenity? I thought I used to know, but no it seemed like there was constant noise. Even now, isolated in my darkened room I could hear everything.

The ice maker in the fridge, the sound of my cat snoring, Sherlock's erotic text alert noise, and the thrumming of a violin being picked at were just a few of the noises that were pushing me to the brink. I don't know why they made me upset, but I accredited it to my anger at Sherlock for being so…Sherlock, and the fact that Moriarty was alive? No, I signed his death certificate, I autopsied his body—he was as dead as dead could be. Except that he wasn't. I suddenly felt my heartbeat in my head. This was too much. I closed my eyes and laid my head back on my pillow. I concentrated on things that made me happy. My cat, coffee, hugs, smiling, showers…the list ended; I couldn't think of anything else. This infuriated me even more. When my phone rang, I cried out a little bit, half from being frightened, half from stress.

It was a text from Mary.

_Would you like to grab some coffee with me? I'm at the café by the flat._

_-MarMor_

Before I responded I was off the bed, turning the lights on, and searching for clothes. I paused in my search to let her know I was coming. Getting out of the flat would work wonders on my mental state.

_Yeah, I'll be there in about ten minutes._

_-MH_

I threw off my gown and slipped on a pair of jeans and a loose-fitting cardigan. I brushed my hair out, not willing to do anything more with it, and slipped my shoes on. I looked myself over in the mirror, and before I left doused myself in perfume.

I set the bottle down and began to leave, but as I began to take a step I couldn't feel my legs. My head became foggy, like I'd stood up too fast, and the last thing I remember was lying on the floor, trying to call out, but not being able to form the words. Everything went black.

I shivered. It was freezing. I tried to open my eyes, but it didn't work. I tried a second time. I felt my eyes opening, but yet all I saw was black. I panicked. I was blind—I was bloody blind. I blinked a few more times, and as I became more coherent I felt the fabric brush against my lashes.

My heart picked up speed. This couldn't be happening again. No, please god, no. I felt myself getting sick from the thought that I was in danger again.

I tested movement in my hands. I couldn't pull them apart; they were bound behind my back. Hopefully the scar tissue from before would make it harder for the skin to become raw, because I was going to try and maneuver my way out.

I felt cool hands from behind me, placed on either side of my neck. I froze.

'Molly, you know what happened last time. I wouldn't try that if I were you.' I shivered. It was the voice from beyond the grave. There was no doubt of who it was. It was Jim. I said and did nothing, and he dug his nails into the skin around my throat. I didn't move or make a sound. Where were the fight and the fierceness I'd had last time? That's right. I'd had hope of being rescued last time. Maybe Mary would notice when I didn't show up.

'What do you want from me?' I whispered, not realizing before then that it wouldn't matter if I wanted to yell—my throat was so dry, my voice so hoarse, that it wouldn't have become any louder.

'I want nothing from _you_, Molly. Sherlock and I need to finish the game.' He grabbed ahold of my hair and yanked backwards, whispering in my ear as I yelped. 'You're just a pawn to get to where I need to be.'

'Why would Sherlock come after me?'

'Since you're most likely going to die anyways, I may as well let you in on the fun.' I heard him laugh and heard the clicking of his shoes as he walked around. 'Sherlock has a certain weak spot for you. Call it what you may, in the end it's all a weakness.' He hissed out the last two words dramatically.

'You've got it wrong!' I croaked, crying out. Tears ran down my face. I didn't want to die. I could feel the fear and impending doom well up inside of my chest.

'This should be interesting.' He said sarcastically. 'Please, tell me what I have _wrong_.' He mocked, saying the word wrong in an almost ape-like voice.

'We're nothing. I swear to you that we're nothing.'

'Nothing? Nothing!' He threw something that shattered, and made an almost deafening noise. The next time he began speaking he was in my face. 'You don't get to see what I see every night.' He laughed. 'The poor boy is half in love with you! Whatever love is to him.' I heard him click away again.

'He won't come near me—'

'It's a game.' He sang. 'He knows I've been watching you. Yes, I have bugs planted all over that pretty little flat of yours. Interesting life you lead…Anyways, as I was saying. He knew my plan from the beginning. He was trying to throw me off of your scent and onto the scent of Miss Adler. It clearly didn't work though. And now, here we are just you and I waiting for Prince Charming.'

He knew the whole time? He knew the whole time and didn't warn me? The tears ran freely now. I didn't care that I probably looked pitiful, I didn't care. He knew.

I felt betrayed and hurt.

'Stop crying, Molly. It's very unattractive. Not to mention, it won't stop me from killing you, or Sherlock from getting here any quicker. Hell, the two weeks is almost up and he still has come.' I heard a beeping, which I assumed to be his phone, and heard him clicking away a response.

'It's not been two weeks.' I stated, unable to believe that I had lost consciousness for that long. It felt like a day…I felt a pulling at the back of my head and suddenly I could see. The first thing my eyes encountered was a phone with a calendar that read two weeks past the day I blacked out. 'Wh-why isn't he here yet?' I whispered to myself.

I choked back a sob.

How could I have trusted him?

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	22. Arachnid

Those same words kept echoing through my mind…

_He knew my plan from the beginning…_

Why didn't he try to stop it? I don't understand…

I was snapped out of my thoughts by the sounds of footsteps behind me. I would have turned to look, but my muscles were stiff beyond repair.

'Miss Adler, glad you could join us!' Jim shouted from across the room, where he'd recently inhabited. I witnessed the woman I knew as Irene being drug in by two scary, large men. 'It's taken long enough; I did call for you sooner.'

'I had plans.' She stated, and was shoved in a chair similar to mine, and handcuffed to it.

'What, trying to give helpful hints to Sherlock, now are we? You didn't seriously think that I was that naïve, would you?' He sighed and rolled his eyes. 'You're so dull, Irene. I truly expected more—the woman who almost beat Sherlock Holmes, yet can't tell when I'm using her…how so like you ordinary people.' He was pacing back and forth between us, never breaking eye contact with one of us.

'You mean everything I've told Sherlock is a lie?'

'More or less—I allowed the information I would have originally given him, but beyond that? No—you played the role well. In fact, you played it more than well! Poor Sherlock! Wait until he finds out that he has to choose between the two of you! Irene, you're flirtations with him while Molly's been _away with her parents_ have been wonderful.' He clapped his hands mockingly. 'Bravo.'

He walked over to me and whispered in my ear. 'Didn't you know, Molly? You've been visiting Clyde and Margret Hooper these last few weeks. No one even cares that you're gone because no one _knows_.'

'You told me that he knew.' I squeaked out.

'I was once told that a fake genius committed suicide—I didn't believe it.'

I kept quiet, as did Irene. Jim eventually left, exclaiming how 'dull' and 'pointless' we were.

'He'll choose you, Molly. Don't worry.' Irene said quietly.

'No—I don't think Jim has his facts together…Sherlock and I…we're nothing. Nothing at all.'

'I'm sure he has all of his facts straight. It's all been a test, all of it, you see? From the beginning with Sebastian, Jim is the one who planted Sebastian in your path and Lydia in John's. If you want to trace it back further, than you can go from before Sherlock faked his death—he planted you in Sherlock's path. He knew what would happen from the start. Don't you see, though? Sherlock knows it too.'

'And?'

'He was trying, well, so was I, to throw you off of Jim's trail. He knew the house was wired, so he wanted to make it appear like the relationship between you two was platonic at best.'

'Stop. This is not like the Irene I met the other day. Why are you telling me this?'

'What would you do in the last moments before you died?'

'Who says you're dying?'

'Molly, I appreciate your bravery, but when Jim Moriarty says chose, the loser doesn't make it out alive. If he chooses you, great, that's what I want. If not, I'll fight trying to keep you alive. Jim was my last protection, so I wouldn't last much longer in the world as it is.'

'Is Sherlock coming?' I asked, needing to know the answer, praying to hear a conformation.

'I wish I knew.'

Several hours had passed since Irene and I spoke. Normally it was me alone here, and I wish it were again. Even now, herself a victim, she kept her head up and appearance strong. I imagined I looked weak and broken, indignant. I wanted to cry, but refused to do so in front of her.

I tried to move my hands—this was a repeat of last time. It's like I could feel every fiber of the rope shred through my skin. Why rope? Why didn't I get handcuffs?

I heard footsteps again, and I'd heard the sound of them before.

'That's okay, Molly. Keep struggling. I want you as damaged as I can get you, so, go on, and rub your wrists raw.' I stopped with my feeble escape attempt.

He walked over to me. 'Sherlock is coming tomorrow, so I must inform you that I _need_ you to be damaged.' He patted my head like a dog. 'It's the only way to complete the game.'

'Why do I have to be involved? Why can't you handle this yourself?'

'Sherlock once described me as a spider. I quite like the analogy, and it'll work to make you understand. I'm the spider. I make my web, my connections. Now, how does the spider get its food? It doesn't go hunt it down, no. He waits, and eventually, the web catches it for him. Then the spider reaps the benefits. You understand? I am a spider, and Sherlock is my food.'

'Why do I have to be injured though?'

'Who wants damaged goods? Especially if you get to choose between the broken toy and the new shiny one.' He laughed and a second later his face went flat. 'DO YOU UNDERSTAND NOW?' He screamed at the top of his lungs, waking Irene, who had ventured off to sleep. 'Don't worry, though, I don't believe you'll be conscious for most of the process.'

'So you don't expect me to live…or be picked, I mean?'

'Let's see if you can make it through step one, first, Molly. We'll cross that bridge when we come to it.' He strutted out of the room with the two men who brought in Irene. I heard the door shut, and felt fear creep up in my chest. When did I become so cowardly?

Is death truly that scary of a proposition?

I looked at Irene who seemed to be lost in her own world. If I were her I'd be thinking about how I'd thank Sherlock for choosing me.

'I would tell him I still love him.' I blurted out into the silence, causing a disgruntled Irene to look at me.

'What?'

'In the last moments before I died, what would I do? I would make sure he knew that he was loved by me. Maybe I wasn't the best, or the prettiest, or the smartest, but I love him. I really do.'

'Why? Of all the things you could do, of all the things you could say, why that? Why him?'

'He asked me…he asked me a few weeks ago if I was in love with him. I never answered. That's why. Plus, it seems fitting. If I'm going to die, he may as well know how I feel. What's the worst he could do at that moment? Say nothing? Say he doesn't feel the same?' Brave words flew out of my mouth, but the shaking of my body gave my fear away.

'He could say he loved you too, and then what? In your last moments of life you would regret not telling him sooner.' Was Irene trying to make me feel dreadful?

'Maybe he didn't mean it until that moment. Maybe it would take moment for him to realize how much I meant to him. Besides, I feel like if that were to happen I would be so pleased by his admittance of love there would be no room for regret.' I laughed nervously and she did nothing but shake her head.

Not five minutes had passed before the two shady figures came in with an array of odd devices and buckets of water.

Irene looked at me, her eyes as full of terror as I'm sure mine were. 'I'm so sorry, Molly.'

Before I could respond, something solid thwacked me across the head.

Darkness and pain mingled as I blacked out after the second hit.

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	23. Peace and War

When I began to regain consciousness, I came to the conclusion that one of two things had occurred. One, I had died, and not being a religious woman I had gone to Hell, and that's why I was in so much pain. Two, I wanted to die, Hell or not, because the pain of being alive to was too unbearable.

I tried to open my eyes, but every time I did I felt nothing but pure pain. I couldn't move my left arm, and from the pain pulsing from it, it was probably broken. Add to this the lacerations I felt creeping their way over my legs, arms, and face, and I was the perfect compound of pain.

I could taste the blood that had pooled in my mouth, and I could feel my upper lip, and decided it was probably three times its normal size.

My body, after being in one position, moved on its own according, causing me to cry out and make it worse by jerking my body back to its original position. My ribs, where I'd been injured before, felt like they'd taken another brutal beating.

I tried opening my eyes again, and unfortunately had the assistance of one of the men who'd beaten me. He put a finger on top and bottom of my eye, and pulled apart until I could see. He did so with the other side, and I cried out as he did so. I felt tears run down my face, and regretted it, feeling the burn like acid that the tears left in their wake.

'Miss Hooper, I'm glad you could finally join us." Moriarty's voice rang in my ears. Everything in my vision was blurry, but I could faintly make out the outline of two figures in front of me. One was a rather short blob of black and the other a rather tall blob of blue and grey. I blinked a few times, finally accepting the pain, in an attempt to focus on the blobs.

When they came into focus I felt like screaming for joy and crying from terror. Sherlock was here, but that meant this was it…I wasn't guaranteed to make it through this.

I saw Sherlock taking his coat off and walking towards me. I questioned in my mind why he would do that, but I wasn't sure if I could form the words.

'That's not how this is going to work, Sherlock.' Jim grabbed Sherlock's arm. 'You can't make a fair choice with one of them covered, now can you?' My mind took a minute to process his words, and when it finally hit me, I looked down. I was naked. There wasn't any clothing on me, and I wanted to roll into a ball and conceal myself. The tears, despite their acidic feel, ran freely down my cheeks. I slammed my knees together in a hopeless defense against my nudity.

_My hair!_ I tried to feel where it was, but couldn't place it along my back, and my head felt too light…

'My…hair?' I croaked. This earned the twitching of Sherlock's mouth into a smile, but only for a second. I couldn't believe he found this funny! But as I thought about it, the vanity of the thought in such a setting was odd.

'Do tell me, Sherlock, why cover Molly when Irene is also naked? I can't disagree with your choice…I'd much rather see someone who wasn't black, blue, and dirty.'

'Miss Adler's body has no effect on me. The fact that she is in this state as a living is less than appealing, and I believe Miss Hooper has a more…modest…past than Irene.'

'So Molly's body does have an effect on you?' He shook his head.

'No more than the average woman's.'

'I'm calling your bluff, Sherlock.' Jim smirked and one of his men handed him a laptop. After a few clicks, two figures in a bed appeared. The settings were so familiar that it confused me.

Then it hit me…

I was watching Sherlock and I having sex. A mixture of embarrassment and dread made its home in my chest. I didn't want to imagine the shade of red I was, even if you couldn't see if over my bruising.

I saw Irene look at the video, Sherlock, and then I in turn—her eyes seemed to lock onto the side of my head. Jim never turned off the video, and Sherlock never looked away from me. He looked at me, and said nothing, did nothing.

'Here's my favorite part.' Jim said nonchalantly, fast-forwarding through the time we were asleep. It was morning in the video, and Sherlock had just jumped out of the bed.

I remember that day like it just happened. It was when I found out about the patches…when he was sent to the hospital.

'Do you like how I did that? How I tainted those patches with cocaine to get you addicted again?' He spoke to Sherlock now.

Why didn't Sherlock ever tell me it wasn't him?

'You're weak.' He spat the last word. Despite the height difference, you could see the men held equal power in each other's eyes. 'But, I suppose I've always known that. Now, take your choice. Which one would you have, Sherlock?'

I hung my head down, knowing that it was over. How on Earth could he choose me over her, perfection sitting naked and waiting for him?

'Jim, I suppose you forgot one tiny little detail.' Sherlock laughed. Why was he laughing? I wanted to slap him for laughing in this situation.

'Oh, dear me! What detail would that be, Sherlock?' Jim rolled his eyes.

'I don't take to losing well.' Jim laughed at Sherlock's remark.

'Do you suppose so?' he patted Sherlock's chest like they were the best of friends, and Sherlock had just said the most hysterical joke. 'I'm sorry, but I'm not giving you the option to win this time.'

'Yet you've not given me the option to lose.' I could see Jim's resolve wavering.

'Sherlock, let's take a moment to give the women their chance. Any thoughts? Make them interesting, they may be your last.' He looked at me as he finished the sentence.

Irene spoke up. 'Sherlock, don't. Don't. I know what she means to you.' Sherlock's eyebrow shot up and he looked at me incredulously.

'Take you, for your wonderful input, but I have no intent of choosing. Besides, if I were to choose, your petty words couldn't change my mind.'

'She loves you, Sherlock. Hide behind your clever words, but know that. She loves you.' This time he looked around the room, avoiding eye contact with me.

'Aw, what a sweet thing, love is.' I felt the cold on my head before I heard the click of the gun being cocked. 'Sorry, but there are no happy endings.'

My breath caught in my chest, and I felt myself begin to hyperventilate.

'Calm down, Molly. If he wants to kill you, he'll do it with or without the hysterics.'

'You calm down! It's easier to calm down when you don't have a gun pointed at you!' I shouted. Despite my fit, his words did calm me down. I saw Sherlock smirk. I focused on that smirk. I remembered it. I looked at how it made his eyes light up, and how his cheeks were a nearly constant pink color. If the trigger were pulled right now, I would have that smirk imprinted in my mind. I closed my eyes, not wanting to lose it.

There was silence.

Maybe it wasn't silent, but I blocked out everything. I heard nothing except a distant memory. _I think I love you, Molly Hooper._ The memory was one that I loved, and looked back on whenever I was upset. Now I focused on it, and suddenly it felt like I was there in that bed again, he beside me, my body tired from the act of lovemaking, but it was a glorious tired. Nothing hurt, just a tingly feeling left over. I was getting tired, and that's when I heard him say it. I didn't want to respond, afraid that he would deny saying it.

I was snapped out of my trance by the sound of a gun. I waited for it to hurt, I waited to fade into nothing, or maybe see the light at the end of the tunnel. I kept my eyes closed; just waiting, hoping that it would come, not wanting to wake up to pain.

I heard my name being called, but I ignored it. If it was the dead calling me, they'd find me...I wasn't hiding from them. If it was the living they'd give up eventually.

I was tired, and I was in pain.

I wanted it to be over,

so I ignored the calling out to me and slid further away, into peace and rest.

.

.

.

.

.

'Molly!' I felt something on my mouth, and I couldn't answer. 'Molly, will you please not do this to me! No, please don't.' The voice made my heart hurt. I couldn't place it, but I didn't want it to hurt, I didn't want the person to be in pain. It hurt me that they were in pain. 'Molly, please just open your eyes.' The owner of the familiar yet stranger voice was crying! Why were they crying over me? I wanted to comfort the person, let them know I was here, that I was fine. I felt more pressure on my mouth, and felt hands on either side of my face. 'Oh god, Molly, please. I've never begged before in my life, just please, don't.'

I wanted so badly to comfort the poor person. I tried to open my eyes, but to no avail.

'That's it! Molly you almost had it, just try again!' I was confused, but assumed that I must have made some sort of progress with opening my eyes. I tried again, and felt the assistance of fingers helping my eyes open. I squinted, the sudden light too bright. The man to my side laughed and ran a hand through his hair. I tried to place his face and personality to a name.

'S-sherlo-lock?' I stammered out. His voice was Sherlock's, as was his face, but the attitude wasn't.

'Molly!' He grabbed both sides of my face and kissed me as if he'd not seen me for a very long time.

'Am I still naked?' I asked, trying to sit up, only to realize that using my left side to prop myself up was a mistake. I heard a pop in my shoulder as I fell back. 'Damn it!'

'Don't move. And you...you have my coat.' His face flushed and looked down at me briefly.

Suddenly it hit me. 'Where's Moriarty?' Against orders, I jumped up, and felt Sherlock's jacket fall off of me.

'He's gone! He's gone, Molly.' Sherlock was on his feet in an instant, coat in his hand. He looked over me, and walked over slowly, and embraced me, carefully avoiding my shoulder. 'I'm so sorry Molly. I never wanted this to happen.'

'How is he gone?' I had a hard time believing Jim could die.

'John. He was monitoring the situation the whole time.'

'Did John kill him?'

I heard a gunshot, followed by three more.

'Sounds like over-kill, if you ask me.' I nodded, unsure of what to think.

'Sherlock...I don't feel so well.' He sat me down and in that moment I noted that someone was coming into the room Sherlock and I were in.

'Put your head between you knees.' I did as I was told, and he placed the coat back over me. I shook it off, feeling overheated.

'Okay!' I heard John say. 'She's very naked...why is she very naked?' I almost felt like laughing. Sherlock simply sighed.

'Is Mycroft on his way?'

'Yes, he said he should be here any moment.' There was a pregnant silence in the room. 'I'll just step outside and wait on him.'

'That would be wonderful, John.'

John did so and we were left alone again. 'Where's Irene? Is she okay?'

'For now. She won't accept our help and no longer has protection...she won't make it very long.'

'I'm sorry.'

'Why...why are you sorry?' He sounded shocked.

'I know that you and her had a thing...'

'Molly, I'm not sure what you've been told, but she and I...she was a client...'

'Who would you have chosen?'

'I'm sorry?' Again, he seemed shocked.

'Between us, who would you have chosen?' I held my breath.

'Do I have to say it?'

'It might be nice to here...you know, once in a while...just a reminder.'

'That's very unlike me.'

'I know, but I could still hope.'

'I wouldn't if I were you. It's most likely not going to happen.' He smirked. 'Sorry.'

'That was unlike you a while ago, and you changed.'

'I'm not going to change to become a suitable man for you.'

It's like I could feel his defenses go up.

'I don't want you to change, Sherlock. I love you the way you are.'

He didn't respond, just like I'd imagined. That was okay, I didn't think he would.

I looked at him and he was looking around awkwardly, never at me. 'Plus, you cried for me earlier. That's enough for me to know how much you care.' His face turned a deep red color.

Before anything else could be said, John walked in and, again complaining about my being naked, to tell us Mycroft had arrived.

Sherlock helped me stand up, and placed the coat over my shoulders once more, buttoning it to the bottom, then leading me out of the building into a long black car that waited to take us home.

Home.

Home, finally.

**Hey there, loves! **

**I hope you enjoyed this chapter! I made it pretty long because I knew my last two were pretty small :)**

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**-TDM**


	24. What Is Left Unspoken

**A Note From The Author:**

**I know I save these for the end, but please read this one, it's pretty important!**

**It's sweet sorrow, but this, my lovelies, is the home stretch for this story.**

**I hope that you have enjoying reading it just as much as I have enjoyed writing it. **

**Just to let you all know, there _will_ be a sequel, and it is under construction.**

**(It's a lot smuttier, I promise)**

**It'll be called You Were Right All Along**

**Also, I've been asked about writing a separate fanfic for John and Mary...**

**If you're interested in reading something like that just let me know!**

**I'm not going to write something (huge) like that if only one person will read it...(sorry, ducky, but I still love you!)**

**I should stop babbling, but I don't want you all to go...**

**But here it is...**

**The final installment of 'My Dearest Sherlock' by TDM**

**(Also, a last chapter clarification that I do not under any circumstances own Sherlock or any of the characters except, of course, for my Mary...she's mine. Don't steal, I will bite.)**

**Also, since it's the last chapter, I'd love it if everyone could review! It'd be much appreciated! :)**

**Enjoy! **

I had been instructed to sleep. Yeah…sleep.

I opened the door to my room and flipped the light on. Everything was right where it should have been. Everything was perfect, untouched. I walked in, closing the door behind me. I could feel the eyes of Sherlock watching me do so…I didn't want his pitiful looks, not now. The second the door clicked shut, I let loose. The tears ran freely, and I held nothing back.

I cried for everything that had happened to me. I cried for Irene Adler, who supposedly wouldn't live, although she'd saved my life. I cried for Sherlock, for being such an ass…I cried because I wanted to yell at him, and question him as to why he wasn't there…why did he just leave me there? I cried and cried, until nothing came out except for sharp intakes of air between sobs of tearless cries. I felt numb. I'd never been numb before.

I wanted to shower, but doing so with the cast the now covered my arm would be impossible. I'd have to bathe, and with all the dirt I'd accumulated, that would also be impossible to do while keeping the cuts on my body sterile. I began crying because of that, too. Everything was making me emotional, and my head responded to it by throbbing.

I needed to look in the mirror…I hadn't been able to earlier when Mycroft had enlisted a group of people to help me. He'd had a doctor come and fix my arm, and a stylist come to fix my hair which had been chopped off by Moriarty's men. I walked into my bathroom and saw some grotesque figure looking back. She had two black eyes; her lips were larger than normal, and a cut on her cheek. She had hair that graced her shoulders, and her cheekbones were extremely sunken in. It wasn't me. It was a ghost.

The mirror was the first thing I shattered. I picked up a bottle of shampoo and threw it as hard as I could, it breaking the small vanity easily. Before I knew it I was in my room, simply destroying. I was throwing things, breaking things, and then lying on the floor to sulk.

I didn't even hear the door open.

'Molly.' Sherlock said. I didn't want to look up, but could feel him hovering over me.

'I just wanted to take a shower.' I said, sobbing in between words.

He bent down and assisted my getting off the floor, and then proceeded to unbutton the coat that he'd loaned to me before.

'Sherlock…what…what are you doing?'

'I'm going to help you take a bath.' He stripped me of the jacket and led me into the bathroom, running water and starting the shower while I waited. 'Get in.'

'Aren't you going to leave?' I asked, the thought of him helping me shower…_during_ the shower…not having occurred to me.

'I wouldn't be of much help then, would I?' He took my hand and led me in the shower, twisting me so that my cast was outside the reach of the water. The hot water felt wonderful, and I soon forgot that Sherlock was there, watching me. 'Are you about done? Don't you need to wash your hair?'

I step out from underneath the water, and he promptly poured too much shampoo in my hand, and I attempted washing my hair with one hand. I opened my eyes for a second and saw Sherlock unbuttoning his shirt. 'What are you doing?' I said, and he pulled off his shirt and then his pants, standing there in his boxers for a second before pulling those off as well.

'I don't need to get my clothes wet.' I could feel myself blushing as he climbed in the shower, standing in front of me. He reached over me, putting his hands in the water, grabbed a large portion of hair I'd not gotten, and began rubbing it in with the rest of my suds-y hair, then running his hand through it, rinsing it in the water. Next came my body, which I really didn't want him to be a part of cleaning. I looked terrible—a grey dust like substance clang to me, and cuts and bruises covered me. Not to mention that I was sickly skinny and you could see my ribs.

'Sherlock, I can—'

'Can you?' He said, cutting me off, turning my hands over and pouring on it a body wash which he'd chosen by scent from the three I owned. He then poured the same amount on his own hand.

It turns out, that I needed him more than I thought. I could reach my torso and shoulders, but other than that, without getting my cast wet, I could do nothing. Sherlock began to meticulously wash every part of me, starting with my sides, which apparently not up to his expectations, and moved onto my lower abdomen. He got down on his knees and washed my legs and feet. I watched him, and wanted to cry again. Was I going to fall more in love only to have him hate me…just a repeat of last time? He continued to wash my legs and I reached out and smoothed his hair, which was more or less soaked with water. I never realized how long it was…I guess the curls make it seem shorter…

He stopped washing and placed his hands on my hips and his forehead on my stomach. 'Molly…I'm…I'm so sorry. I never…I never thought this would happen.' I ran my fingers through his hair, and I felt him place a small kiss right above my belly button.

'I know.' I couldn't say anything other than that. I knew he didn't mean for this to happen…but because of him, it _did_ happen. I wouldn't say that though, and despite my knowledge of it, I didn't resent him for it. I could tell he was finished being sentimental when he stood up and ordered me to turn around. I did so, maneuvered my casted hand out of the way of any water. He washed my back in much the same manner as the front, thoroughly cleaning every aspect.

I grabbed his hand when he reached over my shoulder for me to squirt more body wash in his hand. I placed a kiss on his palm, and noted how cold he was.

I stepped out from underneath the water, much to the questioning glance of Sherlock.

'You're cold.'

'And you're filthy.'

I stood my place and neither of us moved. I began to shiver, yet his body showed no sign of being remotely chilled.

'Get under the water, Molly.'

'No, you're cold!'

'No, you're cold, I'm fine.'

'Just get under the water, Sherlock. It's not fair.'

'No, this is _your_ shower, not mine.'

'Yes, and _I_ want you to step under the water to get warm.'

'And I want you to step under the water to get clean.' I chuckled and reached for the hose of the shower, pulling it off and spraying him with it. He just stood there, looking like he knew what I was going to do all along. I continued to spray him, and he moved towards me, hooking his arm around my waist. He leaned in and kissed me, much to my shock. I leaned in, but before I knew it he was gone, the shower hose in his hand, holding it over my head. I tried moving, but his arm followed over me like a cloud, constantly keeping me drenched. He stood with a smirk on his face, watching me try to figure out how I would get out of the mess.

I looked at him and laughed, truly laughed for the first time in so long…so long that I began (you guessed it) crying. I felt the water pull away from me, and felt him reach over and shut it off. He didn't say anything, but I moved over and wrapped my arms around him, the skin to skin contact feeling soft and slippery with the water added in.

'I'm sorry for being so stupid.' I blubbered.

'You can't help it…it's something all normal people suffer.' I laughed, glad for the normal response. We stood in the shower a moment longer before I became so cold that I needed something to get me warm. I hoped out, and grabbed a towel from under the cabinet, and grabbed one for Sherlock as well.

'You smell like peaches, Sherlock.'

'Yes, it's definitely not my norm.' The steam had fogged up what remained of a mirror, most of it lying in the form of shards around the stand of the vanity it once belonged to. Sherlock sniffed his arm and hands, apparently seeing how much of a peach he smelled like. 'You know, now that all the dirt is gone, you don't look like someone from my homeless network.'

'I'm flattered.' I said sarcastically. 'I'm sure that's as close to a compliment as I'm going to receive, so thanks.'

I walked out and began finding clothes to wear, unsure of what to wear due to the fact that I didn't know what time it was. Sherlock strutted out of the bathroom simply donning his towel, and made his way into his room for clothes. I settled on just my house robe, not particularly caring if anyone saw me in it.

I walked out into the living room and noticed the eight tiny cameras, smashed, on the coffee table. I heard Sherlock walk out of his room. 'Is this all of them?' I asked, hoping the answer would be yes.

'I think so. Even if it's not, there's no one around to use them anymore.' Great…not the answer I was seeking.

'Right…what time is it?'

'Four in the morning.' He said as he grabbed the milk and a muffin out of the fridge. He poured two glasses and put the muffin on a plate. 'Mrs. Hudson stopped by earlier with food.' He explained and handed me the muffin and one glass.

'I'm not hungry.' I really wasn't. In fact, the idea of food sounded repulsive.

'I know, but this is what you did to me…you made me eat when I wasn't hungry.' I smiled, he was taking care of me…I took the milk and muffin and slowly took the first bite. Sherlock was taking turns watching me and texting, though who would be up so early, I had no idea. The knock on the door answered my question. Sherlock jumped up and let John and Mary in.

When Mary saw me she all but ran and wrapped me in a hug. 'Molly, look at you, you poor thing!' John and Sherlock made their way into Sherlock's room as always, leaving Mary and I to talk.

'Yeah…' I started off awkwardly, not wanting to talk about how dreadful I looked. 'Look at you!' I placed my hand on the slight bulge her belly had taken on. She did the same.

'I know! This is all John does when he's not at work, he just frets about the baby and I.' she smiled. 'I love that man so much.' I smiled for her, glad she and John had each other.

'Do I hear any wedding bells in the future?' I questioned, glad for such a light topic.

'Uh, no. I don't need a piece of paper to prove that John and I are committed. Plus, now that I'm pregnant it'll just seem like that's why we're doing it…no, I don't like the idea of marriage.'

'What's the ring for, then?' I noticed the dainty diamond ring on a silver band.

'Just a reminder that he loves me, he said.' She smiled, quoting John.

'I'm very happy for you.' I smiled. 'Do you ever wonder what the boys talk about in there?' I asked, wondering if even she knew.

'No, John usually tells me soon afterwards.'

I was in shock. 'What is it?'

'Normally John's at him for not being more open with you…not being loving or caring enough.'

'He doesn't need to do that…I know Sherlock cares for me…it's not in his nature to admit to it, though. He tends to prove it more through actions than words.'

'I guess…I guess if you know it then that's what counts!' She paused. 'Do you mind if I pop to the loo?'

'No, of course not, though there's a broken mirror, so wear your shoes.' She smiled and went away. I hadn't realized until that moment how much I didn't want company. I wanted to be alone and go to sleep and just sulk for the rest of eternity.

When Mary returned she seemed all too happy.

'Molly…did John and I…did we, I mean…_interrupt_ anything?' I sat and thought about what there could have been to interrupt…

'Not that I'm aware of, why?' Although I didn't want her in my house, I didn't want her to feel unwelcomed…how very British of me.

'I just noticed that you have some of…um…some of Sherlock's clothing in your bathroom floor, and was just curious as to if you'd like John and I to leave if you were…busy.'

I could have died from my embarrassment in that second. Busy? Could she have been anymore…subtly obvious!

'No, Mary nothing like that.' I didn't give a reason, I simply gain interest in the muffin and milk I still had to finish.

'Oh, of course.' She smiled and nodded…yeah, I hadn't fooled her at all. 'John and I have to go anyway; I have a doctor's appointment at six.' I looked at the time and it was only five. Before I could protest, she'd already had John, and they were saying goodbyes at the door, and were gone.

'That was odd.' I stated after they'd left. 'Why'd they come so early anyways?'

Sherlock handed me a bottle of medicine. 'You're going to be feeling a lot of pain, and you're going to want these.' The script said for Molly Hooper, although I'd never called anything in. 'John was dropping them off for you.'

'What are they?'

'Pain medication, obviously.' He did the classic eye roll.

'Obviously, but I never called anything in!'

'The doctor who took care of your arm…he called it in for you.'

'Oh. Okay.' I took one out and popped it in my mouth, not wanting to wait for the pain to set in. I laughed and addressed Sherlock. 'Would you believe me if I told you that Mary thinks we just had sex?'

'Yes, but only because John is thoroughly convinced of that as well.' He shrugged.

I sighed. I didn't want to sleep with Sherlock because I didn't want things to end up the way that they had before. Yet, I did want him. The part of my mind and body that loved him so much it hurt wanted him…wanted all of him…needed him, maybe…

'Why are you staring, Molly?'

'I'm just observing.'

'I'd call it seeing, in your case, not observing.' He was standing just a few feet away from me, wearing only a pair of jeans, his chest bare for me to gawk over. He was texting away, as usual, not paying attention to anything else. I took the few steps towards him, and pulled the hand donning a mobile down so he was looking at me. His eyebrow shot up, questioning my move. 'No.' He said, shaking his head mockingly, feigning sadness.

'What?' I asked, acting as if I hadn't a clue what he could be talking about.

'Don't try to seduce me, Molly, it won't work.'

I sighed at his word choice. 'The word "seduce" sounds a little harsh.'

'Yet it's completely fitting for the situation, wouldn't you say? He moved away from me, across the room, and sat on the couch.

'What about a kiss?'

'We're not domestic, Molly.' My heart hurt a little from his words.

'Then what exactly are we?'

He fiddled with his phone and ignored the question.

'Sherlock?' I questioned, not wanting this question to go unanswered like so many had before.

'What do you want me to say?' He asked, propping his leg up on his other leg and placing his hands under his chin as he did when deep in thought.

'Tell me what you think we are…you always avoid my questions…I let those go but I have to know this one…what are we? Not domestic, obviously you covered that. But, if not that then what? That doesn't leave many options.'

'Speaking of avoiding questions, you're not entirely innocent in it either. I've asked questions before that you've flat out refused to answer. You've so obviously changed the subject…don't play like I'm the only one who does it, Molly. You're just as guilty as I am.'

'Fine, then! An answer for an answer.' I wagered, hoping he'd go for it.

'Okay, how about I go first?' He started, standing up again and making his way in my direction, stopping an arm's length away. 'I asked you a while ago if you were in love with me. You never answered, so, let's hear it.'

I swallowed hard. I hadn't expected it to be that question. When I waited for a moment without answering he began to laugh.

'You can't even take your own wager, Molly!'

'Sherlock, damn it! Don't you get it? You've removed yourself from your feelings! You apparently don't have such emotions, but I do! What, you want me to put myself on the line for you to ridicule me? You want me to admit something so personal and heartfelt, but for what? If you don't feel anything why should I go through the pain? Why. Should. I?' I hadn't realized I'd moved closer to him, but before I knew it, I was only inches away. 'Do you want to know the truth? Yes, Sherlock, I'm in love with you. Does that make you happy? Does it make you feel better to know that I'm just as weak as you thought I was?'

'No. I thought it would, but it doesn't.'

I was taken aback by the honesty in his words.

'You're right. I thought it would put me back at a place of advantage. When you've eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable must be true.'

'Meaning?'

'I've not been hurt recently and I'm not ill, yet I am hurting and feel sick to my stomach. I've not taken drugs in a very long time yet I feel like I'm floating.'

'What is left after that? You said what remains must be true…'

'I'm not sure…but it terrifies me to no end.'

I stood frozen. I wasn't sure what sort of conformation either of us wanted anymore.

'Molly, and when it comes to what we are…if you truly want to hear me say it, then here it is: I don't know. I have no clue what we are or where we are or what we're doing. I don't know.' He let his guards down for a millisecond and the defenses were up again before I could react. A ringing went off which made us both jump. He reached in his pocket and grabbed out a very familiar looking mobile. 'It's yours. I charged it for you.' He handed me the small black object with the engraving on the back, which I loved so much.

'Uh…thanks.' He leaned in awkwardly and kissed my cheek. A kiss on the cheek? No. Not now. I placed my hand on the side of his face and pressed my lips against his own soft warm ones. It wasn't awkward, it was lovely, and his hands made their way up to the sides of my face, and eventually to the back of my head, holding me closer to him. 'Sherlock?' I breathed between kisses. He stopped and looked at me.

'You're hurt. No.' He placed on more kiss on my pouting lips. He was breathing heavily, and excused himself to his room.

I sighed; defeat and rejection coursing through me like blood.

'DAMN IT!' I heard across the flat in the location of Sherlock's room. I walked in that general area, planning on simply listening to what he was saying. 'John, you don't get it! I don't understand!

Why?

Just tell me what it feels like.

What do you _mean_ you can't describe it?

It's an emotion, John, it shouldn't be difficult to describe!

Yes, we're talking about the same sort of love!

How does Mary make you feel when she's upset?

Scared!

John, you're a soldier and you're scared of your girlfriend?

She's forty four kilo's, John, how could she possibly frighten you!

No, I don't get scared when Molly's upset!

What do you mean how do I feel when I see Molly upset?

I feel…I feel like I don't want her to be upset.

No, I wouldn't tell her that!

Yes, I understand that I am supposed to be void of emotion!

That changed that day at Baskerville! I had one emotion and it's like they'd never left! I'm ordinary now, John, Jim was right!

Yes, it is so bad being ordinary.

Ordinary people are boring!

What do you mean I'm boring?

John, you're not exactly helping!

You need me to tell you what happened _again?_

She said she loved me.

And I had to fight an urge to say it back, are you pleased?

I think I might.

John, it doesn't make much of a difference if you know how I feel, that's why I am telling you all this.

About my text…earlier…what do you say?

A week? Damn it, John!

Fine. You're coming over, then. Keep me distracted.

What do you mean you're busy!'

I heard him swear again and heard the beeping of the call ending.

I tried my best to remember everything that was said, but my mind couldn't place it all. It was too much at once.

'Can I help you?' I hadn't notice the door open, and here I stood looking daft.

'I was just going to ask you to keep it down…I'm going to try and sleep.'

'Oh, right.' His faced was nearly flushed. He grabbed my hand and pulled me into his room, and sat me down on his bed, turning off the lights.

'I thought we weren't doing this?' I asked, suddenly hopefully. That is until he laid his head on the pillow and pulled my body down next to his.

'We're not. Now sleep.' I sighed and laid my head down next to him, but facing away. The blanket covered us both, and his arm wrapped around my waist, his face making its home in the crook of my neck.

I fell asleep, and I had terrible nightmares, just like I would for months to come. But, Sherlock was always there when I woke up, or when he awoke me. I was never alone like I was in those dreams. I always was next to him. It was without sex, yet it seemed much more intimate. The glances and caresses that only lovers shared in privacy and dim lighting. Not saying that once I recovered that we didn't have sex, it was just much more than that.

Although I doubt he would come out and say it,

I'm sure it was love.

**I would be clever and say that we'll never know if it's love, but you may find out in the sequel to this story called You Were Right All Along!**

**I would adore it if you all checked it out!**

**It should be posted by June 6th! **

**Also, since it's the last chapter, please do me a solid and review! Last chapter, so please? Please? Please!**

**Also!**

**A thanks to all of the wonderful people who have let me know how they think I am doing...you're all wonderful! I don't care if you've reviewed all 23 (now 24) chapters or just one, know that you have made my day better, and have inspired me to continue this story!**

**Also, a huge giant shout-out to faeryenchanter also known as my wonderful friend and beta Kwan Ann! She's amazing, and has kept me somewhat sane during the writing of this story! I appreciate all the reviews and I've enjoyed hearing your fantastic ideas! Everyone should go check out her Sherolly works! Amazing!**

**Well, I suppose this is when I say goodbye.**

**I'll be back soon, though!**

**Much love, **

**TDM**


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